


(You've Got) That Pornstar Flava

by amfiguree



Series: pornstore au [1]
Category: American Idol RPF, Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, Popslash, Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi, This is pretty much a pornstore/pornstar AU only sans the porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amfiguree/pseuds/amfiguree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very loosely inspired by "Be Kind, Rewind".</p><p>AJ's only been working there a year and a half, give or take, so Chris can see why he doesn't get it. He's still at the stage where porn is shiny and exciting. Thing is, Chris has been a TRANS-PORN employee for almost twice that. After the first twenty thousand tapes, even the weird sex is boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trailer

**Author's Note:**

> Art by the stunningly talented samibee on livejournal.

AJ's only been working there a year and a half, give or take, so Chris can see why he doesn't get it. He's still at the stage where porn is shiny and exciting. Thing is, Chris has been a TRANS-PORN employee for almost twice that. After the first twenty thousand tapes, even the weird sex is boring.  
  
For entertainment, Chris resorts to giving running commentaries on the sex lives - or lack thereof - of the social rejects that frequent the store, and eventually he becomes so vicious that AJ can barely hold back his snickering when he has to actually serve Chris' victims at the counter. Howie just shakes his head and walks away, and eventually the goal of the game shifts from 'how many different ways are there to say that our customers are sadly deprived?' to 'how many times can I make Howie squirm in two minutes?', but even that can only hold Chris' interest so long.  
  
Still. TRANS-PORN may not be the most stimulating working environment, but Chris has worked at a lot worse for a lot less. Lou Pearlman's an asshole, and a pervert, but he's also a businessman. Chris knows this for a fact. Lou has a hand in about four hundred and fifty-eight thousand businesses, which means he isn't around much, or that he's on the phone with some other business shmuck when he is. And _that_ means, if nothing else, that the man's easy to handle. Chris keeps an eye closed, doesn't comment on the hand on his ass three or four times a shift, and at the end of the month he usually gets a healthy bonus on top of his paycheck, whether or not he deserves it.   
  
Howie, on the other hand, cleverly (and sweetly, always sweetly, the little fucker) slides just out of Lou's reach, plans his schedule so that he sees their boss as little as possible, even if that means he's on the graveyard shift till 6am five nights a week. He takes home a considerable amount less than Chris does, but at least - according to him - he's spared the nightmares. Chris just flips him off and says, "one day I'll file a sexual harassment charge against him and run you out of a job, asshole."  
  
He never actually means it, though. See, for all his bitching and moaning - and Chris is a big believer in both - he actually likes his job. Hell, on a good day he might even go so far as to say he loves it. TRANS-PORN has a loyal, steady customer base, and Chris can tell you the names, addresses, and top three borrowed videos of more than three quarters of them off the top of his head. He can probably even tell you their favorite sandwich meat (ham is the most popular by far), the color of their real hair (if they have any), and how many of them AJ's blown against the door to their pantry (none).  
  
So Chris doesn't have much to complain about, really. This may not be what his momma pictured for him when she told him to "get out there and make it happen," when he first left home, but he's always wanted to be involved in films, and this is an adequate substitute. He makes enough each month to put food on the table, pay all his bills on time, and still have some left over to go for drinks with JC and Joey twice a week. He hasn't had to pay for sex yet, but he's got a healthy rainy day sum tucked away, too, in case of emergencies.  
  
Not that this is the life Chris had planned for himself, of course. In fact, if someone had asked him, three years ago, "Kirkpatrick, where's the one place you ain't never gonna end up?" he would've told them, "Nowhere." Easy. Wouldn't even have had to think about it.   
  
He's always had big dreams, always thought he'd stick to the plan of following no path but his own, but he hasn't been that man for a while now. He's already been at TRANS-PORN two years longer than he'd intended to be. Sure, he's cruising down the fast track to nowhere, but he isn't broke, either, and that counts for something. Most days, he's even convinced he's happy.  
  
Unfortunately, happy doesn't last forever.   
  
One day, a little bed-and-breakfast across the street is torn down, and a new club opens in its place: a joint with flashy neon lights, naked, pole-dancing strippers, and an indecent amount of stocked alcohol.   
  
That's when everything changes.


	2. Reel One

"Twenty-seven," Chris announces loudly to the empty aisles in the store. That's how many damp patches he's counted on the ceiling. It's one more than the day before, four more than last week, and he's still sprawled out on top of the counter trying to figure out how long it's going to take for their roof to collapse when AJ comes back inside from his cigarette break.   
  
"Hey," Chris says conversationally, without getting up. "Do you think we should get someone to take a look at the roof?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," AJ snorts, as he thumbs through the stack of videos proudly displayed under the ' _newly returned_ ' sticker on the far end of the wall. Those videos have been newly returned for about two months now. "It's not like we've got to worry about where that extra expense is coming from. You know, since we've got customers banging our doors down."  
  
Chris rolls his eyes. "For the fifty hundredth time, you are not gonna get fired, dumbass."  
  
"Yeah, thanks, good to know," AJ says. "Since you have it on such good authority."  
  
"You're not getting fired," Chris repeats. The little penis-shaped bell over their door jingles, then, and Chris raises his voice as he adds, "Because the only people who get fired around here are the people who come in _late with my coffee_."  
  
"Ungrateful little freak," JC says, but he's holding out a tray of coffee when Chris lifts his head to look at him. "You're welcome."  
  
Chris pushes himself up on his elbows with a feral grin, and takes his coffee off JC's hands. He shuts his eyes briefly at the first sip. "Ahh. You know you're the fucking highlight of my week, Chasez."  
  
"Another quiet day, huh?" JC asks.  
  
"What else is new?" AJ grumbles, under his breath. Then, as he accepts his own cup of personalized heaven, he adds, "Thanks."  
  
Chris chooses to ignore that. "Quiet day? Here? Not at all," he tells JC. "No, in fact, we've been beating people off with sticks."  
  
"Kevin came by this morning?" JC interprets.  
  
"Yeeeeep," AJ drawls.  
  
"Reliable as clockwork, that man," Chris adds.  
  
"Well," JC says, as he leans back against the counter beside Chris and nudges Chris' thigh with his own. "It's only half an hour till Howie gets in for his shift."  
  
"Oh," Chris says. "Yeah, no. He's down with the flu or something. I told him not to come in."  
  
"What?" AJ demands, as he sets his caffeine aside. "Kirkpatrick, I've already told you I'm not doing the graveyard shift again! I don't care if she's seventy, if I ever have to sit through another goddamn cat porno with Mrs. Shears, I swear to god I will take her walking stick and _beat_ her with it."  
  
JC ducks his head and coughs.   
  
Chris just folds his arms, unimpressed. "Relax, caveman. I'm just gonna close early. Kevin's already been here today and it's not like we have other customers to worry about."  
  
JC looks up at that with a frown, saying, "Are you even allowed to do that?"   
  
AJ puts his head in his hands. "You fucking tell me again how I'm gonna _not_ get fired."   
  
*  
  
The status quo doesn't change much. The store is just as quiet the next week as it's been the ten or so before that. If this were a movie, Chris thinks, this would be the part they shoot the same scene about fifteen hundred times, with him in different positions each take, and then they'd have to edit all that footage down to a five-second sequence set to really emo (but tasteful) music.   
  
Five seconds. That's how significant this is in the grand scheme of things.  
  
A paper ball bounces off the top of his head, then, and Chris looks up. AJ's sitting at the far end of the store, head tipped back against the wall and his eyes shut. "Think any louder," he says, "and I'm going to fucking sit on you."  
  
Chris raises an eyebrow. "Yeaaaaaaah, McLean. As far as threats go, that's about--" he drops his hand so it's about knee-height, despite the fact that AJ's eyes are still closed. "Yea high on the intimidating list."   
  
AJ doesn't move aside from lifting a hand to flip him off.  
  
"Sorry, AJ," Chris says breezily. "Been there, done that, kinda lost interest in round two."  
  
"You have never been anywhere near this ass," AJ retorts. "And I intend to keep it that way."  
  
"Even if I come bearing handcuffs and a feather boa?" Chris leers.  
  
"You sick, kinky bastard," AJ says, as he sits up a fraction. Then the corner of his mouth quirks. "I approve."   
  
"I never get complaints," Chris snorts, as he turns back to the counter. He's hit in the back of the head by another paper ball a second later, and he rolls his eyes. "What!"  
  
AJ's reply is smug as all hell. "Got you to stop thinking, didn't I?"  
  
Chris stops short, then sighs. Jesus Christ, it's _Monday_.   
  
He has no idea how he's going to survive the rest of the week.  
  
Things haven't improved two hours later, and Chris almost lets AJ talk him into cutting out of work early. "Come on, Kirkpatrick," AJ wheedles. "It's forty-five minutes, who's gonna know? It's not like we're going to be losing any business here, and if we leave now, we can still make it for Happy Hour at Jim's. Let's start the week off right."  
  
Chris barely manages to make himself say no. Goddammit, AJ can be a hell of a persuasive bastard when he chooses to be.  
  
*  
  
In some kind of sick payback, AJ doesn't even show up for work the next day, fucking prick.   
  
Chris is introduced to boredom on a whole new level, and resorts to calling him on the hour, every hour, threatening castration, a pay cut, and even, in a moment of indescribable desperation, to have him fired, hoping to force him to at least put in an appearance, but AJ never picks up.  
  
*  
  
On Wednesday, Howie shows up for his shift early, before Chris can even begin chewing AJ out for the day before, appearing at the store with a sheepish smile and a shrug. "It gets lonely," he explains, when Chris tries to get him to leave ("You're not going to get paid for extra hours, D."). "If I don't talk to someone besides my girlfriend for a couple of hours this week, I'm going to go stir crazy."  
  
Chris balks at that, and AJ trips over the bunch of blank tapes he's been using to build a mini fortress around the welcome mat. "What!" Chris squawks, finally. "You don't have a girlfriend!"  
  
"Uh," Howie says, giving Chris a strange look. "Yes, I do. We've been engaged for eight months."   
  
There's a beat of silence, during which Chris tries to pick his jaw up off the floor, and then, "You're _straight_?"  
  
"Uh," Howie repeats, as he looks from Chris to AJ, and back again. "Yes?"  
  
"You never told us that!" AJ notes, indignantly. Chris has to hand it to him: he's doing a respectable job of holding it together.  
  
"You never asked," Howie points out. "What - guys, is this suddenly a problem?"  
  
"What?" Chris laughs, too loud. "What? No." Another pause. "But. Seriously?"  
  
That, at least, provides some measure of entertainment for the rest of their evening together, and when they leave Howie to serve out the rest of his shift alone, Chris shoves his hands in his pockets and says, "Huh."   
  
He and AJ turn back to the store, watching Howie through the large display window in the front. Howie's just getting into his TRANS-PORN uniform: a tight, black "mooby-licious" top, and an apron-like piece over their pants proudly and strategically proclaiming _we're BIG on service!_ (because yeah, sure, they have straight porn, but come on, they know their _real_ clientele). Howie catches them staring, then, and smiles as he waves goodbye.  
  
"Huh," Chris repeats.  
  
AJ shakes his head. "Seriously," he says. "Kevin's going to be devastated."  
  
*  
  
On Thursday, JC's late with Chris' coffee. Again. "Dude," Chris says, when JC finally makes it in. "The point in skinny dipping is to take your clothes _off_ first."   
  
JC's _soaked_ , damp hair falling his eyes and matted on his forehead, the collar of his jacket turned up as high as it can go. "They're having Wet Night across the street," he explains, as he hands their coffee over, then cups both his hands around his own mug. "I got caught in the crossfire."  
  
"They're what?" AJ demands, as he leans over to peer out the window. There's a huge crowd gathered outside the club, each one carrying hoses and buckets full of - what Chris assumes is - water, waiting for their turn to get in on the action. Thank God Lou had the foresight to soundproof the store. ("I got one policy, and one only," he'd said, on Chris' first day, "You wanna see people getting off, you wanna hear people getting off, you come in and you pay for a video.")  
  
A huge banner's been strung up, too, right there in the parking lot. _Come Get Wet!_ it announces, proudly, and Chris snorts. "Huh, yeah. Real subtle. That's classy stuff."  
  
AJ looks away from the window, then gestures pointedly at their uniform. "Hate to break it to you," he says, "But have you looked in the mirror lately?"   
  
"Ha ha," Chris deadpans. "Very cute, McLean."  
  
"You know," JC cuts in, before AJ has a chance to reply. "Maybe we should head over there ourselves."  
  
"What!" Chris says, accusatorily. AJ's perked up from his sentry at the window. "I might have expected this from AJ, but you!"   
  
"Just to scout out the competition, Chris," JC adds, consolingly. He looks around the store, then, mouth quirking wryly. "It's kind of a quiet night anyway."  
  
"You're telling me," AJ mutters.   
  
Chris looks between the both of them, frowning. "I can't believe you're actually thinking about giving your _money_ to those people. What, are we actively trying to run TRANS-PORN out of business now? No."  
  
"Chris--"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, for-- _fine_ ," AJ rolls his eyes. "Killjoy. Do I have your permission to at least watch from the fucking window?"  
  
*  
  
On Friday, Chris is five minutes late for work.   
  
To his surprise, the doors at the store are already open when he gets there, but no one's at the counter. "AJ?" Chris calls, as he drops his set of keys in the empty fishbowl by the register. There's no answer, but Chris can hear the faint strains of music coming from the employee room. He starts in that direction. "Goddammit, you can't just leave the front door unlocked when you're not in the-- _Jesus_ , AJ!"   
  
The man in question is lounging in front of the TV set, a stack of porn beside him on the couch and a hand shoved down his pants.  
  
Chris turns right back around so he's facing the wall. "AJ! What the hell?"  
  
"What?" AJ asks, lazily. He doesn't even bother stopping. Chris can see the movement of AJ's arm out of the corner of his eye. "If I'm banned from the nearest strip club, I'm going to find other ways to entertain myself, man."  
  
Chris stands there another second, debating the best course of action.   
  
"Chris," AJ says, and when Chris glances over his shoulder, AJ's tipped his head back on the couch, watching him through dark, heavy-lidded eyes. "Stop acting like you haven't seen it before."  
  
Chris pauses, but then relents and joins AJ on the couch, keeping a respectable distance away. He focuses his eyes on the couple on the TV set.   
  
"It's a two-seater, man," AJ points out. It's altogether too zen for Chris' comfort. "You might as well just cozy up and enjoy this."  
  
"God," Chris snorts. "You're a fucking exhibitionist, you know that?"   
  
"Yep," AJ says absently. "I got nothing to hide."  
  
"Whatever makes you happy," Chris says.   
  
"Bite me," AJ retorts. "Just because you have size issues--"  
  
"Hey!" Chris snaps.  
  
AJ grins, but subsides, sinking further down the couch as he spreads his legs even wider. "Oh, yeah," he moans, after a second, and Chris has to remind himself to keep his eyes on the porn. Not that AJ seems to mind, either way. But no. Chris is not looking.  
  
"What are we watching again?" he asks. Huh. Actually, he doesn't think he's seen this one before.  
  
There's a brief silence, and AJ's voice is a little strangled when he says, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a little preoccupied here."  
  
"Right, yeah." Still not looking. Chris reaches over to grab the title cover on the tiny coffee table in front of him. He's not going to sneak a peak, dammit. He's better than--wait a minute. "Attack of the 50-foot Penis? Dude. _Seriously_?"  
  
"Hey," AJ says. "Don't judge. I like what I like."  
  
"You work in a _porn store_ ," Chris says, as he turns the cover over. "The hell is this?"  
  
"Killing the mood, man. Shut up."  
  
"Seriously," Chris repeats, shaking his head. An elephant suddenly appears onscreen, much to the delight of the frolicking couple. Chris lets out an appalled squawk. "AJ! What the fuck, man?"   
  
"Chris," AJ grunts, obvious strain in his voice. "I'm trying to get off here."  
  
"What? On this shit?" Chris demands. The elephant shifts its weight, positions itself. "Aww, come on!"  
  
"Jesus, Kirkpatrick!" AJ pants. "Get off, or get the fuck out!"  
  
*  
  
After that, it just becomes another one of their sort-of semi-private routines. AJ pretty much holes himself up in the employee room instead of working (although he insists that's arguable since there's no work to be done), and Chris makes loud, unpleasant remarks about AJ's choice of bed partners to the store at large while he wipes down the counters, takes inventory, and double- and triple-checks the customer accounts (still hand written, mind, Chris has a bone to pick with technology).  
  
Inevitably, though, and against his better judgment, Chris finds himself drawn back to AJ's side. They'll curl up on the couch for a couple of hours at a stretch, AJ trying to jerk off for the fifth consecutive time, and Chris pointing out everything that's wrong with the image they're seeing on the TV screen.  
  
As it turns out, AJ's not just into gross porn. He's into the really bad, creepy shit, too, crap that Chris wouldn't pick out even for the customers who deserve it.   
  
Chris shakes his head as he settles into the worn employee couch and reaches for the bowl of popcorn nestled against AJ's side. "You have no fucking standards, McLean."  
  
"Damn right," AJ breathes, hand still jammed down the front of his jeans. "And I'm okay with that."  
  
"Seriously," Chris says. "You need to explain this to me."  
  
"I press play," AJ grinds out, "And then I put my hand down my pants, and my dick kind of likes it. Do you want a fucking diagram?"   
  
"Yes!" The woman onscreen exclaims. "Yes, yes, oh, _Jimmy_! Ride me like I'm a wild horse that needs to be tamed!"  
  
Chris raises an eyebrow. " _Dude_."  
  
AJ doesn't even pause. "Yeah, fuck."  
  
Bad-animal-metaphors girl is starting to make actual horse-like noises now, and Chris nearly blows an artery trying not to snort his brain out of his nostrils. He chances a brief glance at AJ, whose eyes are closed, head tipped back. "Seriously?" Chris repeats, rolling his eyes as he tosses another popcorn kernel into his mouth. "I'd rather watch the roof peel off than this shit."   
  
He stays right where he is.  
  
AJ groans, and not in a satisfied way. "Jesus, would you quit with the bitching already?"   
  
"What?" Chris objects. He's still mostly teasing, but honest to god, there are a couple of blindingly obvious flaws in the scene. "Are we even watching the same thing here? I mean, come on! She's _neighing_! They've actually succeeded in making sex unsexy!"  
  
AJ huffs out a sound caught between exasperation and pain, and he zips his fly up again in a quick, jerky motion, before taking one of the worn cushions and hurling it at Chris. "I fucking _loathe_ you."  
  
Chris' grin shows off all his teeth.  
  
Anyway, that's pretty much the only green light he needs to keep on going with the teasing - not that he needs any encouragement at all, really - only, with his short attention span, pretty soon he starts pointing out _actual_ problems with the porn. The lighting, the script, the piss-poor cinematography. And once Chris boards that train, it's damn near impossible to get off.  
  
"Look," he tells AJ one day. He's practically in AJ's lap, ignoring the fact that AJ's half naked, legs spread in a wide vee, jeans pooled around his ankles. (They gave up any pretense of modesty days ago.) "Just _look_ at the color of that nipple and tell me that's not fucked up."   
  
AJ's slouched against the couch, still working himself with his hand, but the muscle in his jaw tics every time Chris shifts, and he clearly isn't getting anywhere. Chris turns his attention back to the TV screen, and shakes his fist at it. "Goddammit, man! Being in the porn industry doesn't give us the right to be sub-par!"  
  
AJ's jaw tightens.  
  
The penis bell jangles before he can reply, though, and JC's head appears around the door a couple of seconds later. "Hey guys, shouldn't one of you be out there? The door's wide open and people could--holy crap."  
  
"Uh." It takes a moment for Chris to realize how bad this must look. He leans back on his ankles, putting an extra inch of space between himself and AJ. "Hey, C."  
  
After a second, JC seems to find his voice. "Hey," he says. It comes out sounding strangled. "Uh. What the hell are you doing?"  
  
"Trying to jerk off," AJ replies, just as Chris chimes in with, "Watching AJ's lame idea of good porn."  
  
"Okay, you know what?" AJ barks. "That's it. You're officially pissing me off!"  
  
JC's expression melts into concern. "AJ--"  
  
Chris raises an eyebrow. "Hey, I'm not going to be the fall guy for your shitty taste in porno."   
  
AJ scowls darkly. "One of these days, I am going to kick your freakishly short little ass, I swear to god."  
  
Chris' jaw drops.  
  
AJ narrows his eyebrows.  
  
Chris glares right back.  
  
"Guys," JC soothes. "Can't we just--"  
  
"Hey JC," Chris says conversationally, without breaking eye contact. "Did you know AJ watches elephant porn?"  
  
"A truce would be--" JC stops short, digesting the information. Then he screws his face up and shakes his head at AJ. "Okay, I get the wanting to experiment thing? And I mean, I've tried a lot of things myself. But seriously, cat, that shit's just nasty."   
  
*  
  
So Chris spends another week basking in the awesomeness that comes from working AJ up - or preventing him from it - before he locks himself out of the store for the first time in two months. He stares forlornly through the store window at his keys, lying at the bottom of the fishbowl, then drops his forehead against the glass doors with a sigh. "Dammit."  
  
AJ is going to be so fucking gleeful.  
  
It's hopeless and Chris knows it, because the man could sleep through his house crumbling around him, and the hurricane that brought that on in the first place, but he tries Howie's cell first anyway. There's no answer. Clearly, Chris decides, AJ has a little something going on with the fates on the side. He swears under his breath, but, after pacing up and down the parking lot a couple of times, punches AJ's number in. The phone rings twice before AJ picks up. "Talk to me."  
  
"So," Chris says. "I, uh. Might have sort of, accidentally, maybe kind of locked myself out of the store again."  
  
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Even over the phone, Chris can hear AJ rolling his eyes. "Where the hell is Pearlman?"  
  
"Same place he always is," Chris grumbles, kicking half-heartedly at the front doors. "Not fucking here. You think I wanted to call you?" He hesitates, then bends down to wipe away the footprint with his shirt sleeve. "He locked himself in his office all morning yapping at some asshole on the line, and then just disappeared. The man could be a goddamn magician."  
  
There's a pause. "Chris, are you making those stupid faces against the window again? You know your slobber's a bitch to clean off."  
  
"Shut up," Chris says, but he peels his nose away from the glass anyway and licks his lips experimentally, feeling marginally less pissed off. "How long are you gonna take to get down here?"   
  
"Jesus Christ," AJ grumbles. "I'm not paid to be your bellboy, Kirkpatrick."   
  
"You can't leave me stranded!" Chris protests. "What if there's a customer?"  
  
AJ snorts so hard Chris hopes he blows a blood vessel. "Uh huh. Nice try."  
  
"What am I supposed to do, man? Howie's not gonna be here for, like, six hours!"  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to be there at all."  
  
Chris balks. " _Dude_."  
  
"Dude," AJ mimics. "You're an hour away."   
  
"You know, if you called me asking for a favor like this, I'd already be in my car."  
  
"Sure," AJ snorts. "Headed the other direction." And yeah, okay, Chris kind of has to give him that one. "Plus, I don't constantly lock myself out of the office." ...Okay, that one too. "And I don't get paid a bonus that's a couple hundred bucks more than what everyone else gets."  
  
"Okay, first of all, you don't get groped for it," Chris gripes. "And secondly, how is that even relevant here?"   
  
"It's not," AJ concedes. "But I was making a point."  
  
"The point is, what's it going to take to convince you to get your butt down here?"  
  
AJ doesn't reply for a long while, long enough that Chris poises himself to repeat the question. Then, "No more judging my porn."  
  
Chris actually laughs. "What!"  
  
"You heard me."  
  
"Yeah, I know, but _what_?"  
  
"Chris."  
  
Chris frowns. "How am I supposed to _not_ judge when you get off on porn videos where the lighting is so bad that I'm watching the rash on Rick's ass instead of Jackson's motherfucking penis?"  
  
Silence crackles over the line for a moment, and then, "...Good talking, man. I'll see you tomo--"  
  
"What? AJ! Wait--"  
  
"Like I said," AJ interrupts, calmly. "No judging."  
  
Chris kind of wants to hit him. "Okay, fine!" he growls finally, glaring at his reflection in the store window. "No judging. Fuck."  
  
"I'll be there in forty-five," AJ singsongs. There's no missing the triumph in his voice.  
  
It takes Chris gnashing his teeth together, hard enough to get a migraine, to stop the caustic reply that's ready to slip out of his mouth.  
  
*  
  
AJ gets there in thirty, probably breaking every traffic law in the process, and Chris is so happy to see him that he considers, however briefly, actually making good on his promise to stop judging the weird porn. Then AJ cuffs him upside the head, and the gratitude disappears.  
  
"Thanks," Chris mutters darkly, as AJ pushes the doors to the store open. Grudgingly, he adds, "you wanna get a coffee for the ride back?"   
  
"Nah." AJ waves him off, and heads down towards the back of the shop. "I'm already here. Might as well stay. Wouldn't want to leave you lonely."  
  
Chris rolls his eyes, but goes to the back office to get his uniform - there's no way he's wearing that shit out on the streets. It isn't there, and it isn't on the front counter, either. "Hey," he says, as he walks into the employee room. "Did you see my--oh, man. 'Dude, Where's My Dildo?' again? Really?"  
  
AJ doesn't even turn around to look at him. "Shut up, asshole. No judging."   
  
Chris snorts as he drops into the seat beside AJ. "Yeah, well. No accounting for taste, I guess."  
  
AJ throws his hands up, then, and Chris realizes his pants are still done up. "Okay, you know what? The fact that you're supposed to shut the fuck up about my porno aside, I'll bite. What the hell is so bad about this movie? It's _porn_ , not brain science."  
  
"What's so bad about this movie?" Chris parrots, eyes wide. "Uh, what _isn't_? The lighting is shit, the angle sucks, I've only heard the dialog used in about fifteen hundred other pornos, and--" He points an accusing finger at the screen. "She's faking her damn orgasm!"   
  
"Oh-kay," AJ says. "I'm not even going to ask how you know that."  
  
Chris barrels on like AJ hasn't even spoken. "There's nothing new here, nothing creative. What's the point in having that kind of market and then letting it go to waste?"  
  
AJ's mouth is twitching. Bastard. "You know, the amount of thought you've put into this? Pretty damn unhealthy."  
  
"Fuck off," Chris gripes. "You work in a porn store long enough, you pick up a couple of things. Then you figure out what all the tricks are." He winces at the next odd jump cut. "See that? Jesus, _I_ could do better than that."   
  
"Okay." AJ reclines in his seat. "So do it, smartass."   
  
Chris freezes in the midst of dissecting the scene. "Uh. What?"   
  
"Do it," AJ repeats, smugly. "Film your own porno. I'll fucking eat this VHS tape if you can get three goddamn customers to give you a recommendation."   
  
(Every week they do this thing where they tabulate the RPP - the recommendations per porno - and the tape with the highest rating is put on display during peak hours - or it used to be, back in the day when they _had_ peak hours. If there was a tie, they'd put the winners to an in-house vote; it's a democracy, so they have to do that kind of thing. Chris' vote counts twice, because seniority works that way too, and the rest agree that anyone who can stomach working with Lou that long is a hell of a scary motherfucker.)  
  
"Yeah, right," Chris snorts. "We don't _have_ three customers."  
  
"So?" AJ demands. "Go out and find them."   
  
"Where? The parking lot across the street?"  
  
"That would be a start," AJ shrugs. "They're already here for the right reasons."  
  
"Huh," Chris says, thoughtfully. "Maybe that would even convince them to-" He stops abruptly. "Why the hell am I talking about this like it's worth thinking about?"  
  
"Because there's fuck all to do here," AJ points out. "And if you say yes, I might actually stop watching this shit for two days and we could even drum up some business."  
  
Chris pauses, calculating. "I hate it when you make sense."  
  
"What, so you'll talk the talk, but when it comes down to it--"  
  
"Shut up," Chris snaps. "Fine. I'll do it."  
  
AJ eyes him half-amused, half-skeptical. "Fine."  
  
"Double fine."  
  
AJ raises an eyebrow at that, then rolls his eyes. "You're a fucking pain in my ass," he says, and punches Chris in the shoulder, hard, before going back to his porn.  
  
Chris stares at the side of AJ's head for a moment. "So," he says eventually. "How would this work, exactly?"  
  
*  
  
Years later, this is the part where Chris, looking altogether too smug for anyone's taste, likes to say, "and that, ladies and gentlemen," even though there are rarely any of either in his mostly teen-aged crowds, "is how it all began."  
  
*  
  
It turns out that there's a bunch of equipment lying around the store that no one ever uses. "Just your basic, run-of-the-mill stuff," AJ says, as they wade through cables and dusty blocks of batteries. "But you've got pretty much everything you need for a basic shoot. Plus the empty parking lot out front."  
  
"Yeah," Chris snorts, as he inspects one of the three boom mics lying on the ground. "Because car sex isn't the biggest fucking cliché in the industry." He shakes his head. "Who the hell am I even going to cast in this thing?"  
  
AJ grins at the question. "Funny you should ask," he says, promptly producing a list of contacts desperate enough to do it for a quick buck, and damn if Chris isn't just a little bit impressed. AJ smirks at the expression on his face. "Lucky for you, I'm a resourceful little fucker."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, "Chris says, dismissively, and scans quickly through AJ's catalog. He balks at the amount it'll come up to. "Quick buck--this is fucking robbery! AJ, do I _look_ like I have that kind of money?"  
  
AJ cocks his head.  
  
Chris frowns, and then snorts in disbelief when he realizes what AJ's asking him to do. "Oh, no," he says. "Hell no. I am not spending my rainy day money on a dare."  
  
"Chris," AJ huffs, clearly frustrated. "This could be the dare that changes your life."  
  
"Somehow I doubt that," Chris snorts.  
  
"Should've thought about that before you took the dare, fuckwit. Suck it up."  
  
Chris thinks about it now. "You know," he says, finally, thoughtfully. "If you're so fucking invested in this, you should be in it."   
  
"Right, yeah," AJ smirks. "Great idea. I'll start listing the then thousand ways I could mess this shit up for you."   
  
"You do that," Chris agrees. "Just know that if you suck? I'll have it on tape. And if you don't? I have the editor."   
  
AJ stares hard at Chris for a long moment. Then he makes a noise caught between irritation and disbelief, and shakes his head. "Fine," he says. "Fine, _I'll_ fucking do it, asshole. But I better see actual health insurance included in my fucking contract when this is over. Now pick another name."  
  
Chris grins smugly as he shoves the name-list into his pocket. "Don't need it."  
  
AJ looks like he just swallowed a lemon. "What?"  
  
Chris laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his words. "Yeah, like I'm touching your ass with a ten-foot pole."  
  
AJ glares, but then comprehension dawns and he rolls his eyes. "Jesus," he says. "You fucking cheapskate."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Chris says, breezily. "Just wait till I get C to say yes."  
  
*  
  
"Yeah," JC laughs, when Chris asks. "Yeah, okay. Sure. Sounds like fun."  
  
"Didn't I say he'd be up for it?" Chris crows at AJ, with a grin.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," AJ grumbles. "You're a fucking mind-reader. I get it. C, you wanna start working out a schedule to--what?"  
  
JC's staring at them both like they're the people he lives two doors down from. It's not as easy as it sounds; the Welshes pretty much bewilder him on a daily basis. "Uh," he says. "Wait, you mean you're - this is -- are you seriously asking?"  
  
Chris isn't grinning anymore. "I'm taking out my fucking rainy day money for this," he snipes. " _Yes_ , I'm seriously asking."  
  
"Uh," JC says. He's looking more alarmed by the second. "Okay, seriously? No."  
  
"Huh." AJ folds his arms. "And you didn't even hesitate. Should I be offended?"   
  
"Sorry, cat," JC says quickly, with a placating smile. Then he shakes his head. "But seriously. No."   
  
"What?" Chris protests. "C!"  
  
AJ throws his hands up and stalks away with a growl. "Fucking typical."  
  
"Dude," Chris hisses, once AJ's out of earshot. "It's not like you've never done this before."  
  
JC blushes hotly, and ducks his head. "Shut _up_ ," he hisses back. "I should never have told you about that."   
  
Chris snorts, momentarily distracted. "We're like Thelma and Louise, man. You tell me everything."  
  
"I'm not a gossiping girl," JC insists. "And I was totally plastered, which, thanks, by the way." He pauses for a second, then adds, "Asshole."   
  
"Aww, come on, I'll do it again," Chris offers. "You're a cheap drunk, and I hear AJ's a good lay."  
  
"Wait, I just told you _no_ ," JC says. Then, "Where'd you hear that?"  
  
"Guy who lives in the apartment above mine," Chris says sagely, then nods in AJ's direction. "Man gets around."  
  
JC looks like he's about to laugh, but then his expression closes off. "Okay, so not the point here."  
  
"You asked!"  
  
"So I'm un-asking!" JC huffs. "Just - I'm not gonna do it."   
  
"But--"  
  
"Chris!" JC interrupts. "It's weird, okay?"   
  
"Weird?" Chris repeats. "Come on, it's _AJ_. It's not like the man has any concept of shame--"  
  
"If you two lovebirds are done yapping about me behind my back," AJ interrupts, then. When Chris turns around, AJ's standing right there, clearly pleased with himself. "There may be someone else. This guy I used to work with."  
  
"This guy got a name?" JC asks, obviously relieved. Chris shoots him a dirty look, which he gladly returns.  
  
"Nick," AJ says, ignoring their exchange. His smug grin stretches. "Nick Carter. I can maybe talk him into doing it for a free meal."  
  
"What, like lunch?" Chris asks, doubtfully. "'Cause I don't know, man. I'm a pretty cheap guy, but even I wouldn't do this for a lettuce sandwich."  
  
AJ snorts. "Yeah, 'cause when I said 'free meal', that's exactly what I had in mind."  
  
"A lettuce sandwich might not do it, but what about a freebie from Starbucks?" JC offers. Chris perks up at that, feeling a little more hopeful.  
  
"Hmm," AJ says, actually looking thoughtful now. "Bagels?"  
  
"It's a staple food," JC replies, nodding gravely.  
  
"With extra cream cheese?" AJ asks.  
  
"Like I serve my customers anything else," JC sniffs.  
  
"And the most sinful mocha latte he's had in his life?"   
  
JC grins. "That I can definitely do."  
  
"And you can toss, like, a walnut or two into the coffee blender to go with that, right?"  
  
JC opens his mouth to answer, then snaps it shut with an uncertain frown. Chris glances at AJ, but AJ just waves him off and says, "Don't ask. I'm not drunk enough to tell this story."   
  
Chris shares a look with JC.  
  
"So?" AJ demands.  
  
JC's mouth quirks at that, and he shrugs in an offhand what-are-you-going-to-do? gesture of solidarity.  
  
Chris sighs, then gives AJ a sidelong glance. "So I guess we've got ourselves a new leading man."   
  
*  
  
Later, Chris is actually _embarrassed_ by his initial skepticism. He never lets on, but for all of AJ's crappy choices in porno, he has impeccable taste when it comes to the real thing. Nick Carter is everything AJ promised: big, blonde and fucking breathtaking.   
  
He towers above Chris and AJ both when he's introduced, hair flopping into his wide, blue eyes as he offers them a sweet, easy smile. " _Jesus_ ," Chris says, when he takes Nick's hand. Nick's fingers all but swallow his own.  
  
"Not so far off," Nick replies wickedly, clearly amused. Just like that, he's showing off the dirtiest smirk Chris has ever seen.  
  
Chris twitches. Then he looks at AJ. "How did you swing this?" he demands.   
  
AJ's eyes flick upwards, then, and his mouth curves at whatever expression it is he sees on Nick's face. It's almost predatory.   
  
Chris slaps a palm over AJ's mouth before there's any reply, ignoring the muffled protest and Nick's amused grin. "You know what? Don't tell me," he orders. "Save that for the camera."   
  
It's probably best he doesn't find out, anyway.   
  
"So," Nick says, as he slides his hands into his pockets and cocks his head. "When do we start?"  
  
*  
  
Things fall into place a lot quicker than Chris expects them to. The script, once he gets started on it, pretty much writes itself, and all he has to do to convince Joey to help him out is show him the finished product. It's not like it's even remotely difficult to talk him into reading the draft; they were a fucking phenomenal team back in college.  
  
"Dude," Joey says, an hour after Chris emails him the document. "This is comedy gold."  
  
Joey started work at Warner Brothers years ago as a fresh-faced graduate, got himself a job as a small time editor, and he's happy enough with where he is in life that he doesn't push for more, which Chris is convinced is the only reason he doesn't have a position higher up the corporate ladder.   
  
What he does have, though, are broad, sturdy hands and a killer eye for cinematography, so Chris doesn't protest when Joey completely bypasses him in favor of the camera when he comes over for their next biweekly alcohol-embracing get-together.  
  
"I can start working on a storyboard tonight," Joey says, as he examines the equipment. Then he looks up at Chris. "Unless you mind?"  
  
It's Joey's way of saying he's on board, and Chris very nearly grins. "Please," he snorts. "Like I'd accept the work of the second-rate film student."   
  
Joey rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. "C's going to work on it with me, asshole. And just so we're clear? He only topped that pre-production course by _two_ points. Total fluke."   
  
Chris finds himself grinning back as he cuffs Joey upside the head. "Whatever, genius."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Kirkpatrick," Joey laughs. "Keep talking like you weren't up there with us."  
  
*  
  
It's a mad scramble and a half, but they're ready for the shoot once the weekend rolls around. Chris isn't a big believer in wasting time, so Nick meets Joey and JC just before they set off, and gets a hasty round of introductions during the hike out to their location.   
  
It's a huge, empty field, tucked away in a corner near JC's place that he claims he found by accident. "You seriously lucked out," Joey says, on a laugh, twenty minutes into their trek. "C, this place is like an hour's drive from the city."   
  
"Oh," JC replies. "Yeah. It's, um. It's on the way to work."  
  
AJ coughs at that, and when Chris turns around he's watching JC with an odd, amused look on his face. "Starbucks is across town," AJ says helpfully.  
  
"Shut up," JC mutters, ducking his head. And then AJ starts laughing in earnest as he pulls JC aside. For a second, their heads are bent close together, so close that Chris can't overhear the conversation, even when he strains. Even then, he can't miss the way JC's ears start to burn, and AJ's grinning as he straightens. JC's still flushed, but he's laughing too, a little awkwardly, and he punches AJ's shoulder before they rejoin the group.  
  
"I thought I was the one who got to hear all your dirty little secrets," Chris says, slinging a friendly arm around JC's neck when JC finally catches up to him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Oh, don't even, Chasez," Chris grins. "I saw that little high school exchange."   
  
"What?" JC laughs. "I - with AJ?" His mouth curls a little more, and he slants a look at Chris. "You jealous of my new BFF?"  
  
"I'm totes jealous," Chris agrees, as he nudges JC in the side. "We're all twelve-year-old girls here."   
  
JC rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, and the attempt he makes to resist the fistful of grass Chris puts down his shirt two seconds later is weak at best.   
  
"Get a room already!" AJ shouts, and JC grins.  
  
*  
  
They've been walking forever when AJ pipes up again. "Okay," he says, dragging the back of his arm across his forehead. "If we don't get there in five _seconds_ , you're going to get a fucking strip show, I swear to God--"  
  
"Right there," JC interrupts, pointing at the open space just up ahead.  
  
"Damn," Nick says, with an easy grin, and AJ actually laughs.  
  
"Gonna make me blush, Carter," he purrs, without so much as a pause.   
  
The look Nick flashes AJ is probably illegal in forty states. "Not the only thing I'm gonna do."  
  
Joey actually snorts at that, and Chris' _save it for the camera_ dies on his lips. They're _fascinating_.  
  
"We're here," JC announces, and Chris barely tears his eyes away from where Nick's hooking a finger over the waistband of AJ's jeans in time to keep from walking right into JC's back.  
  
Joey whistles, low. He sets the equipment down, then takes a good, long, cursory look at their surroundings. "This is a sweet set-up, man," he says, over his shoulder. "You got all your paperwork cleared?"  
  
Chris pauses. "Uh."  
  
"Yeah," JC cuts in, and Chris turns in surprise. "Yeah, uh - the owners got back to us a couple of days ago. We have a go."  
  
Chris can actually feel his eyes go wide. "Dude," he says, as Joey flashes them a thumbs-up and shifts his focus back to hooking the mic up to the camera. " _Dude_."  
  
JC ducks his head with a dismissive shrug, trying to laugh it off, but Chris doesn't miss the blush working its way up his neck. He grins, and is just about to say, _you're fucking adorable, Chasez. What the hell would I do without you?_ when AJ calls, "Kirkpatrick," from halfway across the field. When Chris looks over, the boom mic's balanced strategically on top of one of the lower branches of a nearby tree, Nick's already completely naked, and AJ's halfway there, jacket shucked alongside Nick's in a small pile at his feet. "Are we gonna do this or what?"  
  
"Shut up and let me work!" he shouts back. "And keep your clothes on! We're saving the strip tease for the camera!" He glances over at Joey. "Hey--"  
  
"Here," Joey says, handing him the headphones. "We're all hooked up." There's a quiet whine of feedback, and then--  
  
"--still too fucking impatient, you know?" Chris hears Nick say, clearly amused.   
  
"That's AJ in a nutshell," he shouts over to them, grinning when AJ flips him off. He looks back at Joey, who's setting up their tiny tripod. "Mic's working. Volume's good. We good to go?"  
  
"Lighting's a little off. Give me one more sec..." Joey adjusts the camera a little more and fiddles with a couple of buttons before giving Chris a nod. "Yeah, we're good."  
  
"Okay, people!" Chris says, voice raised. His stomach does a strange, little flip, and his pulse is fluttering under his skin. "This is our first scene, and it's a big one. Let's make it good!"  
  
AJ looks up at the mic. "Hey, Chris," he says, casually. "If you make this look like we're lying in a field of fucking pansies, I'm going to kick your ass."  
  
Joey cracks up so hard that the tripod topples, nearly taking the camera with it, and Chris sighs.  
  
"So," JC says, lowering his clipboard with a resigned smile. "Should I get started putting up that tent?"  
  
*  
  
As it turns out, JC doesn't have to. Because AJ and Nick really know what they're doing. Like, _really_. They nail it their first take, and their second; they're still going strong on take five, and Chris nearly forgets to call, "cut!" on take seven.  
  
"Did that read on camera?" AJ asks, and Chris almost jumps in his seat. Fuck.  
  
"I think I underestimated the talent," he says weakly, to no one in particular. JC gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.   
  
"I could do it again," Nick offers. Beside him, AJ shrugs casually. "If you need a different angle or whatever."   
  
"Yeah," Chris says, pitched to carry, but his voice comes out more like a rasp, and he coughs. "Yeah, one more take would be a good idea."  
  
Joey shoots him a look, at that. "Not a word," Chris warns, without looking up, watching AJ tug his jeans up again in the viewfinder. "It's Film Making 101. There's no such thing as too many takes."   
  
JC hides his grin in his clipboard as Joey snorts and loads a fresh tape into the camera.   
  
*  
  
It takes a week and a half of editing - which would have emptied Chris' bank account and cost Joey his job if anyone at Warner had found out - but when it's done Joey says, "fucking porno masterpiece, okay?" with JC beaming beside him, and they call everyone down to Joey's apartment for the unofficial premiere, crowding on his couch with popcorn and beer.   
  
The field looks fucking awesome on screen, like it stretches on forever. Nick weaves a path through it as he walks, stopping short when he sees AJ in the shade of a lone tree. His mouth curves as he looks AJ over, the heat of it a slow, scorching burn.  
  
AJ catches the look as he glances up. He cocks his head, studying Nick with building interest. "Need something?"   
  
"Directions," Nick nods. His grin stretches into a leer. "Is this Heaven?"  
  
To his credit, AJ doesn't laugh. "It's Iowa," he says, with a grin, body language going liquid loose.   
  
Nick leans in. It's like the air crackles. "Close enough."   
  
Then he's crushing his mouth against AJ's, one big hand anchored in AJ's hair, the other already working on AJ's jeans. AJ's kissing Nick back, hard and hungry, hands fisted in Nick's shirt, and then he yanks, hard, and the shirt comes apart in his grip.  
  
("Holy crap," Howie breathes. "How many shirts--"  
  
"One," Chris grins, the triumph in his voice clear as day. "Press studs."  
  
"Fucking uncomfortable," Nick adds.)   
  
They stumble a little, still kissing, and when Nick overbalances they both go down. They don't even pause as they hit the ground. It takes all of two seconds for AJ to get Nick's jeans off, and Nick makes the most sinful sounds as AJ goes down on him.  
  
He comes apart under AJ's touch, almost as easily as his shirt, his hair mussed, back arched, lips pressed against the inside of AJ's wrist. AJ's smirking when he surfaces, pupils dark and dilated. He touches his mouth, which is bruised and spit-shiny, and grins again when Nick shudders.   
  
Nick growls, fingers twisting in the lapels of AJ's jacket before he jerks AJ down for another kiss. Then he flips them both over, mouthing, "my turn," into the hollow of AJ's throat. He works AJ's jeans off, fingers deft and sure, before hooking AJ's legs, slow and deliberate, onto his shoulders. He's _huge_ like this, and AJ looks up at him with a heated smile, eyes almost glazed over, spread and relaxed and so fucking _ready_.  
  
It's like the world goes still when Nick slams into him. It's not gentle, not controlled, not about anything but need and want and _now_ , do it right fucking _now_. AJ moans, long and breathless, and Nick keeps going, once, twice, and one of AJ's hands drops into the dirt, claws five long lines into it as his head tips back.  
  
One of AJ's legs slips down, curls around Nick's side and wrenches him even closer. Nick makes a quiet, appreciative noise, before taking AJ's free hand, maneuvering it. "Wanna watch you get yourself off," he whispers, right in AJ's ear, and AJ's eyes roll back in his head as he curls his fingers, works himself once, twice, again.  
  
"Yeah," Nick pants. "Yeah, just like that, Jesus--" He closes a fist around AJ's as he pushes into him again, and AJ's back comes right off the ground, his toes fucking curled and his teeth grit, pushing up into Nick, who swears and pushes back, their limbs a messy, naked tangle.  
  
Nick's face comes onscreen, then slips into a soft, hazy focus, just before everything fades into white. The music swells and the credits start rolling.   
  
The room is dead silent.   
  
Chris can barely keep from bouncing his thigh.  
  
And then AJ lets out a breath. "Fuck."   
  
Howie blinks, and Nick grins. "Already covered that. What was it, like, fifty-three takes?"  
  
"Fuck," AJ repeats.   
  
"Stop thinking about switching career paths," JC chides, smacking the back of AJ's head.  
  
"I'd be an awesome porn star," AJ says. No one points out how breathless he sounds.  
  
Instead, Joey says, "Probably true. Man, I've never seen a jaw line that looks that awesome up close." Nick looks at him, eyebrow quirked. "What?"  
  
"Really," AJ says flatly. "My jaw line. That's what you're looking at?"   
  
JC makes an appreciative noise that's still somehow soothing.   
  
"Hey," Joey says. "Sober here."   
  
"Guys," Howie echoes. "Straight here."  
  
AJ looks from one of them to the other, then shakes his head in disappointment. "Un-fucking-believable. My body is totally wasted on you."   
  
Chris just watches them, and grins.  
  
*  
  
Obviously, they don't have a marketing budget, so to get the word out, Nick posts it on youtube as soon as Joey converts the footage - just a snippet, of course - and they get fifteen thousand hits their first day alone. That's on top of an offer for international distribution (which Chris makes them all ignore, because that means going through Lou, and that's never been an option).  
  
JC helps where he can, telling all his potentially interested customers at work about this great new porno he saw, and how they should all go check it out.  
  
Business actually picks up a little bit after that, some from their pool of old clientele, but mostly from new customers coming in because of the online buzz, and AJ becomes something of a D-List Celebrity at the store. Eventually, enough people stop by that Chris can revive the RPP system, and _Field of Sex_ is their recommended film of the week three times in a row. Chris doesn't even need to veto.   
  
AJ doesn't eat the VHS tape, but it's a damn close call.  
  
*  
  
So it only makes sense, a month after _Field of Sex_ is released, for AJ to hop onto the counter top ten minutes before they open and announce, "We should make another one."   
  
"AJ," Chris sighs. "We've been through this. We don't have time for paper jewelry when there are customers in the store."  
  
"Not the earrings," AJ clarifies. "The porn. Look at us. Business is back, we're getting foot traffic, people are buzzing, everyone's asking about a sequel."  
  
"No sequel," Chris snaps, on autopilot, without even looking up from his inventory sheet. "Someone needs to explain the concept of quality control to you."  
  
AJ rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says. "Fine, no sequels. What do you want to do?"   
  
Chris does lift his head, at that. "What do I want to do?" he repeats. "What, that's it? Compliance? No argument? No big fancy theatrics?"   
  
"Well, if you're complaining..."  
  
"Shut up," Chris grins. "I'll think about it."  
  
*  
  
As if to deter him, Lou calls Chris into his office the very next day. It's fucking ridiculous, but Chris' palms are sweaty when he goes in. He knows, Chris thinks. He fucking _knows_ ; they're fucked, and he's going to get AJ fired after all--  
  
"Nice work, Kirkpatrick," Lou grunts, and Chris pauses.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"We finally turned a fucking profit this month," Lou says, as he snaps the accounts book shut. Chris barely even tenses when Lou comes around his desk to cop a feel. "I don't know what you've been doing with that ass, but it's working."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Chris replies, ducking his head as he grins at his shoes.   
  
AJ's sitting on the counter top, face pinched, when Chris comes out of the office. He only relaxes when he see the smirk on Chris' face. "This is so fucking on," Chris murmurs, as he yanks AJ off the counter by his apron. "All I need to do is figure out _what_ to do."  
  
"Any chance we'll get to use elephants?" AJ suggests.  
  
Chris pauses mid-step. "Oh my god," he chokes out. "It's going to take burning my fucking eyeballs to get that image out of my head."  
  
*  
  
Chris is an immovable force on the animal issue, so they end up compromising and doing car porn instead. "Only," Chris explains, "With a twist. Because it's going to be vintage, and we're going to do it Titanic-style."  
  
AJ raises an eyebrow. "I'm not going to play Rose."   
  
Nick just grins.  
  
Howie laughs when he reads the script, and he hooks them up with Vince, a friend of a friend who happens to sell vintage cars. He doesn't have the Renault 35CV, but he has something else pretty damn close, and he agrees to loan it to them completely free of charge, as long as they advertise him. He's exactly the kind of guy Chris would cast as the harmless villain everyone loves to love, sort of like the monkey in the Powerpuff Girls.  
  
"Product placement," Vince says, with a loud, brash chortle. "I have fucking wet dreams about your kind of clientele, man."   
  
At that, AJ takes a careful step back from the counter.   
  
"They're perfect," he continues. "No sex, no kids, no family, fucking nothing in their lives to spend their cash on but my cars. Best fucking way to reach out to them, and I don't have any competition."   
  
Chris has to admit he has a point.   
  
"Okay," he says. "You've got yourself a deal."   
  
*  
  
It's totally worth selling out the integrity of the film for, Chris decides in the end, because the car reads amazing on camera. "Places, everyone!" he bellows. "And you better get this right or you're both gonna be overshadowed by a fucking car!"   
  
"Sound," JC says, as he flashes Chris a thumbs-up.  
  
"Camera rolling," Joey echoes.   
  
"Action!" Chris calls, barely suppressing a smile. He could do this a thousand fucking times and he'd still feel like this, like his stomach's in knots and his heart is about to beat out of his chest.  
  
Then AJ walks into frame, and Chris turns his focus back to making the scene perfect.  
  
*  
  
AJ gets to sit up front. "Where to, sir?" he asks, with a sly grin.  
  
Nick's sprawled out in the back, legs spread and a careless smirk on his face. "To the stars," he says, like it isn't the cheesiest fucking thing Chris has made him say all month. AJ's grin widens, at that, and then Nick's leaning forward, wrapping his arms around AJ's neck and dragging him into the back of the car.   
  
They end up on the floor, AJ's hands braced on either side of Nick's head. "Nervous?" he murmurs.  
  
Nick just laughs. "Shut the fuck up," he says, before he shoves a hand down AJ's pants.  
  
Joey tracks left with the camera, and then they get the famous hand shot.  
  
"And cut!" Chris calls.  
  
AJ sits up almost immediately, one hand pressed gingerly to his side. He lets out a low hiss. "That hurt like a mother."   
  
"Suck it up," Chris tells him. "You still have two hours on your shift at TRANS-PORN after this, and I'm due back in four hours."  
  
AJ groans, and flops back against Nick, who's sitting up behind him. "This is fucking insane."  
  
*  
  
It turns out that AJ's ribs are bruised worse than he thought. "I'm gonna have to sit the next one out," he tells Chris, apologetically.  
  
"Oh, don't even," Chris snaps, and AJ has to grin.  
  
"Okay, yeah, I'm pretty fucking thrilled that I won't be doing the Lord of the Rings role-playing shit, I'm not gonna lie."  
  
Chris groans and drops his head in his hands. "Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be to make Nick look like a fucking Hobbit?"  
  
*  
  
Nick's partner, Wade, is just as tall as he is, which is plenty tall, and Chris spends half a morning trying to figure out how many angles they can get without giving away the fact that his on-screen hobbits are, in fact, a lot more than three feet high.   
  
To their credit, Nick and Wade take the entire situation in their stride, even when Chris puts them both in brown, curly-haired wigs, and a strange pair of pants made out of leaves and not much else.   
  
"Oh Pip," Nick sighs, as he strokes an errant leaf out of Wade's hair.  
  
"Oh, Merry," Wade sighs back.  
  
"I'm so glad Gandalf showed me that book about this," Nick says. His voice is starting to go dangerously high. He shifts a little closer. "About, you know. _Sex_. And Boromir's lessons in the cave were really useful."  
  
Nick pushes himself up on an elbow as Wade grins. "Oh," Wade says. "Is that what those were? I thought he was teaching us Human for hello!"  
  
"Cut!" Chris snaps, his voice shaky with laughter.  
  
Nick flops onto his back with a grateful groan. "Thank fucking god I'm leaving town this weekend."   
  
*  
  
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," AJ moans, dropping his forehead against the counter with a loud thunk. "You can't make a guy come a thousand fucking times in four hours and then _put him on a fucking second shift_."   
  
"Look," Chris mutters, as he ushers the next customer out of the store, gritting his teeth as he smiles. "We've all had a long day - thank you ma'am - but Howie's sick, and we have customers."   
  
That's pretty much the understatement of the century. Business has been booming. They're doing better than even before the strip club, potential clients turning into actual ones, new customers quickly going from their 'temporary' folders to their 'long-term' and 'permanent' ones.  
  
"Could've just told Lou we needed to close early," AJ grumbles, but he rings up the register for the next customer without even looking at the keypad.  
  
"Lou doesn't know," Chris says, matter-of-factly. "But I wasn't going to disappoint all these people -- you have a nice night, sir -- where else are they gonna get their daily fix of porn?"  
  
"Who the fuck cares?" AJ bitches. "What the hell do you think Flesh4Men is for?"  
  
"Chris," JC sighs, as he comes back from where he'd been introducing the foreign porn section to a bunch of overzealous teenagers. "I'm not agreeing with AJ, but--"  
  
"But he's agreeing with AJ," AJ chimes in, almost smugly. He ignores the glare he gets from the customer he's serving in favor of smacking Chris upside the head. Chris elbows him back, but otherwise pays him no attention.   
  
"But we need help," JC continues, as if AJ hadn't spoken. "You're never away from work, Howie's on his own most days now, and he can barely cope. AJ's dead on his feet, Joey isn't even supposed to be moonlighting, and--"  
  
"And you're on the verge of being fired," AJ pipes up.  
  
Chris' head snaps up at that, away from the patron he'd been serving. "You're what?" he demands.  
  
JC waves a hand dismissively. "It's not as bad as it sounds," he says. He only narrowly ducks the newly-returned VHS tape that AJ chucks at him.  
  
"It's bad," AJ says, firmly. "Do you need C to show you his letter of notice or is this actually sinking in?"  
  
Chris balks, turning to JC helplessly. "Jesus, C. You should've said something."  
  
JC shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. "You're finally making your own movies, man. I mean, Starbucks doesn't measure anywhere near that."  
  
Chris releases a loud, heavy breath as he fiddles with the edge of a five-dollar bill. "Okay," he says eventually. "I'll get Lou to put up an ad."


	3. Reel Two

It turns out that distributing the ad is the least of their problems.   
  
After the four hundred and twenty third applicant, Chris is pretty convinced they're never going to find the right person. "It's filing," he laments. "It's filing, picking out porn, and showing up for work on time. Why the hell haven't we found someone?"  
  
"You either scared them off, or shoved them out the door," AJ points out.  
  
"Great," Chris snaps. "So it's my fault that this town is full of incompetent assholes?"  
  
AJ sighs, mock patiently. "Chris, who the fuck else is going to apply for a job at TRANS-PORN?"   
  
"Uh," someone says, hesitantly.  
  
"We're closed," Chris bites out, still glaring at AJ. "You know, you haven't exactly been actively involved in the interviews, so--"  
  
"Okay," AJ says easily. "Leave the rest of them to me."  
  
"Excuse me--"  
  
"You?" Chris snorts.  
  
AJ raises an eyebrow. "How do you think I find the people you cast in your porno, man?"  
  
"Hey, guys?"   
  
Chris stifles a snort. "You really want me to answer that?"  
  
AJ lobs a wad of balled up application forms at him. "Oh, fuck you."  
  
"Yeah," Chris says, smugly. "There's been a lot of that--"  
  
"Hey, I'm Justin Timberlake. I'm here for a job interview?"   
  
Chris and AJ share a look, and then Chris glances up. "Job interview?"   
  
Justin smiles, a little uncertainly. "Yeah. I, uh, I saw the flyer out in the window."  
  
"Okay," Chris says, giving Justin a quick once over. "I don't know which flyer you're talking about, but we're an _adult_ DVD store. If you want GAP, it's two streets down."   
  
Justin shrugs. "Dude, you can fancy it up all you want. You're still selling porn."   
  
Chris doesn't have to turn around to know that AJ's grinning. "That's not the point," he says. "And good going impressing your potential colleagues, by the way. If I had--"  
  
"You're hired."  
  
" _What_?" Chris squawks. He turns to glare at AJ. "What are you--"  
  
"I'm in charge, remember?" AJ tells him, curtly. Then, to Justin, he adds, "You start in an hour. Go get a spare uniform."  
  
Justin beams.  
  
*  
  
It quickly becomes apparent that Justin pretty much worships the ground Chris walks on. His first day on the job he's like a fucking shadow, or a puppy, or some sick combination of both, tagging at Chris' heels, taking notes and looking over Chris' shoulder at the various customers every two seconds.   
  
"Dude," Chris snaps eventually. "You're hovering. Quit it."  
  
"Sorry," Justin mutters, flushing. "Sorry, sorry."  
  
It's fucking annoying.  
  
The only time he leaves Chris' side is when he needs to use the bathroom, and Chris takes the five minutes to storm over to AJ, pluck the cigarette from between his fingers, and take a long drag. "I can't believe you okay-ed _him_ ," he mutters. "He's like a goddamn stalker."  
  
AJ takes his cigarette back, completely unruffled. "You're going to thank me eventually," he says.  
  
Chris opens his mouth to argue, but then he pauses, gives AJ another careful once over. "What are you so fucking pleased about?"  
  
AJ smirks. "You remember Ashley, right? I spent last night making sure he's as good off camera as he is on it."   
  
"Oh my god," Chris groans. "This better not become one of your habits, McLean."  
  
"Skip the lecture, Chris," AJ grins. "I've heard this all before."  
  
Chris is about to retort, but then Justin's back from his bathroom break, and all he can do is shoot AJ a glare and mutter, through gritted teeth, "Shmuck."  
  
*  
  
As it turns out, though, AJ's right. (About Ashley and Justin both.)  
  
*  
  
The next morning, Justin brings in a pack of AJ's favorite smokes, and a cup of black coffee for everyone else.  
  
AJ practically lights up at the sight. Then he actually lights up, and takes a deep, long drag.   
  
"You're a smart son of a bitch," Chris moans, into his cup.  
  
Justin flushes, again, and AJ shoots a smug grin in Chris' direction. "Aren't you glad I talked you into giving him a second chance?"  
  
Justin looks confused for a second, then his eyes grow wide and he turns to Chris accusingly. "Dude. You were gonna _fire_ me? It's only my second day!"  
  
"Kid," Chris drawls, "If you'd been half this attentive yesterday, I would've offered you a fucking raise."  
  
"Yeah, with money you don't have," Justin points out.  
  
AJ's grin is almost feral. "So there's a bitch beneath the puppy-dog eyes," he observes. He looks at Justin, clearly sizing him up. "I like you better already."  
  
Chris glares at that, and AJ blows a ring of smoke in his face. Chris rolls his eyes and ignores him instead. "With money I'm making," he says to Justin, primly. "Now get back to helping me earn it."   
  
*  
  
Business only gets better from there on out. Chris is doubtful at first, but after he gets over his initial starry-eyed wonder, Justin actually takes to the job pretty quickly. For one thing, he has a vested interest in porn, and not in a weird, fucked-up way. For another, he can get anyone to warm up to him in two seconds flat. _Anyone_.  
  
See, after all this time, Chris has pretty much every customer pinpointed and categorized the minute they walk into the store. He always makes sure to steer clear of the first-timers. They're skittish and embarrassed, and he's a little too loud for their comfort. It's even worse if they're Mormon. But Justin's all charm and warmth, making them feel right at home without even trying.  
  
Chris is almost envious.   
  
Then there are the oddballs: some come in with requests so absurd Chris has to grit his teeth so he doesn't start cracking up in their faces. Some come in looking for a specific video they saw, like, ten years ago and could never forget, only they can't remember the title, but what they can remember, they like to describe in minute, vivid detail. Some come in on dares, or drunken whims, and they're always the easiest to talk into things, which Chris fully exploits. He sends them away with no less than four tapes at a time, which he always considered an accomplishment until Justin starts convincing them to rent twice that.  
  
There are the regulars, too, the ones Chris knows by name, height and eye color, who come to him for recommendations whenever they stop by. They like to hang out by the counter sometimes, when it's quiet. The only difference is, where they used to talk about football, they now talk about Justin. It's a little uncomfortable, but not enough to stop Chris from putting in a comment of his own every now and then.  
  
He's not a fan of pedophilia, but he's not fucking blind.   
  
"It's interesting," Justin says, one night, as he helps Chris close up. "It's not a steep learning curve or anything, but the _people_. I never thought I'd meet so many different kinds."  
  
"Different people!" Chris cheers, mock enthusiastically. "How awesome!"  
  
So he's a little bitter.  
  
"Come on, man," Justin laughs, as he bumps Chris' hip with his own. "Why you gotta be like that? Let's hang out. I'll even spring for beer."  
  
Despite himself, Chris smiles. Dammit. "What for?"  
  
"For surviving another day at the store? For being hot, gay, and single?" Justin offers, rolling his eyes. "Do we really need a reason to drink?"   
  
It's a good point, especially since it's technically get-drunk-with-C-and-Joey Thursday. Chris pauses, caught in a moment of indecision. He hasn't blown JC off since he broke up with Dan in college.  
  
"God, stop _thinking_ all the time," Justin says, wrapping an arm around Chris' shoulders and tugging him forward. "No wonder people think you're thirty, the way you go on about shit."  
  
It's a distraction tactic. Chris _knows_ it's a distraction tactic. It still fucking works. "What?" he demands, as Justin leads him down the street. "Who the hell told you I'm _thirty_?"   
  
*  
  
It doesn't take Chris long to discover that Justin's really easy to get along with. They fall into an easy groove at work, communicating with hand signals and eyerolling behind the customers' backs, and then it's just natural progression that they start hanging out after. They shoot hoops, throw back a couple of beers, bitch about the day they just shared and the people they had to serve.  
  
"You're surgically attached at the fucking hip," AJ mutters, when Justin's been there a month. Not that Chris had been counting -- Justin circled the date on the calendar in the staff room weeks ago.  
  
"Shut up," Chris says.  
  
Justin wanders past them, then, and smacks the back of AJ's head.  
  
"What the fuck?" AJ demands.  
  
"Chris was looking at you like you deserved it," Justin calls back breezily, already halfway out the store for his lunch break.  
  
Chris decides right there and then that Justin should get a celebratory dinner.  
  
He calls JC, Joey and Howie over later that evening, and they close the store for a couple of hours while they order pizza. Joey brings booze, and they're just settling into their seats when the penis bell goes. "Pizza delivery!"  
  
"I'll get it," AJ grumbles, when it's clear no one else is going to volunteer. "Typical. Timberlake gets a party his first month here, and I get to play fucking bellboy."  
  
Justin throws a wad of Kleenex at him. "Quit stalling, Grouchy. Go fetch me my food."   
  
*  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Chris decides that AJ would make a fucking shitty bellboy.   
  
"What the hell is he doing?" Justin asks.   
  
Howie looks at the door speculatively. "Should we be worried?"   
  
"I'm gonna go get him," Joey says finally, and pushes to his feet.  
  
JC takes the opportunity to lean over and nudge Chris' side. "AJ's not the only one who's pulling the disappearing act, you know," he murmurs. "I hear you're a hotshot director now--"  
  
Chris rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Very funny, Chasez. I'm just--"  
  
"I come bearing food!" AJ announces, as he steps back into the room.  
  
Chris looks up at Joey, who's leaning against the door frame, arms folded, wearing a fond but exasperated smile. "He was getting friendly with the delivery boy," he informs them, with a nod in AJ's direction.  
  
Justin raises an eyebrow. "Dude. You had, like, fifteen minutes. That was _so_ not enough time for a quickie."   
  
"That's what you think," Chris snorts.   
  
AJ mimes throwing a box of pizza at him, but it's half-hearted at best. "Stop being such fucking voyeurs," he says, smugly.  
  
"Says the exhibitionist," Howie points out. "If I have to hear about your sex lives, the least you can do is minimize the teasing."  
  
Joey makes a face. "Speak for yourself," he says. "Discretion isn't exactly AJ's specialty, so let's just thank him for the small favors and move on."   
  
AJ blows Joey a kiss. "I love you too, stud."  
  
Justin drops his head on Chris' shoulder. "Like an old married couple," he says, in a stage-whisper. His hair tickles Chris' cheek, and his hand is warm on Chris' thigh when Chris grins.  
  
"Okay," JC says, then, as he reaches for a fresh can of beer. "If you're all done flirting, I think it's time we dig in."   
  
*  
  
It's a long time before they share another meal after that. Business is picking up, and everyday seems busier than the last. They're all clocking longer and longer hours, and each shift is full of demanding customers wanting to know when their inane requests will be filled, on top of self-proclaimed actors insisting on explanations for the fact that their on-screen penises are two sizes smaller than their actual merchandise.   
  
"Well, if you weren't _wilting_ all the time," Chris had all but hissed in response, one particularly hectic day, which is when Howie had taken him by the shoulders and pointed him towards the employee room, before taking up post at the counter himself, with Justin, to deal with the frenzied, impatient, _growing_ in-house crowd.   
  
Chris flops onto the battered couch with a groan, and listens to the couch springs groan along in protest. "People," Chris mutters, under his breath. "I _hate_ fucking people."  
  
"Pity, since you're pretty much in the business."   
  
Chris startles as he looks up, then rolls his eyes when he realizes it's only AJ. "Where the fuck have you been?" he demands. "It's a shit storm and a half out there."  
  
"Only sensible place to be during a shit storm is in here," AJ reasons. "And you know they'll call me when they need back-up, so stop talking and let me finish this."  
  
"What the hell are you--" Chris begins. But then the remote control to the store's sole TV set hits him in the stomach, and he breaks off to double over. "Jesus fuck, AJ," he wheezes. "Watch where you're aiming that shit." AJ doesn't turn around. "Hello? Internally injured employee here, asshole."  
  
"Quit moaning," AJ says, as he bobs his head at the screen. "You know, that guy looks kind of like the one in that picture you showed me. Your old bandmate."   
  
"Who?" Chris asks, as he semi-straightens, and joins AJ by their crappy little three-inch TV set. Lou's pretty much the walking definition of cheap bastard.  
  
"David something?" AJ taps his finger against the monitor - lightly, though, just in case the whole set topples over. "The one that just won American Idol?"  
  
"American Idol?" Chris demands. "That's what you're fucking hiding out in here to watch?"  
  
AJ glares at him, then Chris feels AJ's hand up against his neck, right before he has his face shoved against the screen. "Ow," he protests, then cuts himself short. Stares at the blinking images on TV. "Holy _shit_ ," he breathes, eyes wide as he turns back to look at AJ. "That son of a bitch." AJ's watching him, eyebrow raised, and Chris breaks into a wide, manic grin. "That son of a bitch, he actually did it!"   
  
He's fumbling with his phone before AJ can respond. David fucking Cook. They haven't spoken in years, not since the band split up, but it'd been amicable, and Chris still has Cook's number stored in his contact list, just waiting for an excuse to be dialed. Cook answers his phone on the third ring, with a sandy laugh and a "Finally decided you'd cash in on my fame, huh? What took you so long?" before waving off all of Chris' attempts at congratulations with a casual, "what the hell have you been up to?"  
  
"Like you're actually interested, hot shot," Chris retorts.  
  
"No, you're right, I was just being polite," Cook says, and Chris grins and rolls his eyes.   
  
"Seriously," he says. "Congratulations, man. That's fucking huge."  
  
"Ah, y'know," Cook replies. "Once you're in the top two, it's 50-50."   
  
"Real modest there," Chris deadpans. "As usual."  
  
"Come on, man," Cook says, but he sounds like he's grinning now. "I'm gonna get a big head if we keep talking about me. What's going on with you? Are you doing that movie thing like you used to talk about? Hamming it up in Hollywood?"  
  
"Shut up," Chris tells him, but his laugh gets caught in his throat for a second. "That's water under the bridge. Right now I'm living the glamorous lifestyle of the porn-store employee."  
  
Cook howls. "Always knew you were the one with the master plan."   
  
"Says the newest American Idol," Chris shoots back. "Nice going with the hair, by the way. It's very... Extreme Makeover of you."  
  
"Don't diss the hair," Cook says, without heat. "It has its own fanbase."  
  
Chris snorts, and a second later Justin pokes his head into the room, frowning. "What the _fuck_ are you guys doing?" he hisses. "There are people waiting to be served out here!"   
  
"I was _trying_ to watch TV," AJ pipes up, from his position on the couch, with a pointed look at Chris. When Justin doesn't budge, AJ rolls his eyes and pushes to his feet. "Fine," he huffs, and leaves the room.  
  
Chris glares at Justin, motioning at his phone, but Justin just glares back and jerks his thumb in the direction of the counter. _Customers, hello?_ he mouths, and Chris rolls his eyes. "All right, superstar," he says, into the phone. "I gotta go. I know the concept is probably lost on you right now, but some of us still have to work to earn our keep, you know?"  
  
"Fuck off," Cook laughs, and then, muffled, adds, "Okay, okay. No more cursing. Dang it." Then he's back again. "Sorry about that. My keeper's eavesdropping - ow, Archie!" A scuffle, more laughter, and then Cook comes back again. "Listen, Chris, it was good hearing from you, man," he says, so sincerely that Chris doesn't even reach for any kind of deflection.  
  
"Yeah," he replies, instead. "Good hearing from you too."  
  
"I need to check out your store one of these days," Cook goes on. "So call me back and we'll set something up."  
  
"Absolutely," Chris agrees, making a mental note of it as he snaps his phone shut. Cook's a decent enough guy that he'll feel bad if he doesn't actually go through with it.  
  
Justin eyes him curiously. "Who was that?"  
  
Chris rolls up his sleeves without answering, then heads back out towards the counter. Justin bumps his shoulder when they pass each other at the door, but Chris just raises an eyebrow, looks pointedly at him, and says, "Customers, hello?"  
  
Justin opens his mouth, but then Howie looks up and spots them. " _Guys_ ," he calls. "Customers, hello?"  
  
"Yeah," said customer snaps. He's Indian, looks about forty, and Chris would bet anything he's wearing a wig. "And your ceiling is fucking rotting on me, so would you mind?"   
  
Chris yanks the door to the employee room shut and plasters on a smile. "I hate fucking people," he mutters, through gritted teeth, before Justin shoves him back into line and goes to make sure AJ doesn't hit their next potential patron over the head with the cash register.  
  
*  
  
Business seems to double post that, which Chris suspects is due to Cook spreading the word among his constantly expanding circle of friends. That's all fine and dandy, except it means that they need to film more porn, and they need it stat. The only problem with that, as it turns out, is AJ.  
  
"You really fucking get around," Chris snarls, as he's hung up on for about the twentieth time in a row. He crosses out the last name on AJ's potential-pornstar directory, then crumples it and flings it at AJ's head.   
  
AJ barely ducks it. "Would you relax? You have nothing to worry about. We're in a town full of potential talent."  
  
"Yeah?" Chris sneers. "How long is that going to last when your mission statement is to leave no ass untapped?"   
  
"What can I say?" AJ smirks. "I'm a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy."  
  
"AJ!"  
  
"Jesus, _okay_. Just watch where you're pointing that pen."   
  
Chris glowers, brandishing the pen like a taser. "Then stop. Screwing. My. Talent."  
  
*  
  
AJ actually keeps things on the down low pretty much that whole week. It's possibly due more to the fact that there's no one sitting around TRANS-PORN all day waiting to be hit on than anything else, but Chris decides to chalk it up to his inspiring powers of persuasion. It's the only highlight of his week.  
  
They're in dire need of new material, which makes Chris antsy, and it takes him for-fucking-ever to find Erik and Jacob, who are only willing to consider doing the film for twice what he usually pays. They have to come in for a screen test, and Chris smacks AJ hard when he sees AJ checking them out.  
  
"I'm serious, asshole," he hisses. "You don't want to know what I paid to get these guys on board and I want them to stay that way. Come within ten feet of them and you're going to be stuck doing inventory the next fucking fifty years of your life."   
  
AJ just rolls his eyes and flips Chris off before heading out for his smoke break, and Chris has to resist the urge to pound his fists into the counter top. "I'm not going to be fucking reduced to filming _straight_ porn again because we can't find any fucking talent!" he shouts, after AJ.  
  
"Problems?"  
  
Chris doesn't need to look to know it's JC. "Same old," he sighs. Then, raising his voice so it carries, he adds, "Some of us just need to learn how to stop fucking _everything that breathes_!"  
  
JC stifles a smile as he offers Chris a cup of coffee. "So do you think you can handle acting like a normal human being or should I come back later?"  
  
"Hate to break it to you, C, but we're way past normal human interaction," Chris says, gratefully accepting his shot of Starbucks.  
  
"Trust me, I got that memo a long time ago," JC grins. "I'm not asking for me." Chris raises an eyebrow at that, and JC jerks his head in the direction of the front door. "Look who showed up on my doorstep."  
  
Chris frowns as he glances over JC's shoulder, and then almost does a double take. "Jesus, Bass. Is that you?"  
  
Lance spreads his arms with a flourish and a crooked smile as he steps out from behind JC. "I'm back from Boston, baby."  
  
Chris grins, and pulls Lance into a quick, one-armed hug. "Must be my lucky year. What brings you home?"  
  
Lance shrugs, fingers skating across the counter top. "I just missed it," he says, without quite looking up. "It felt like a good time to revisit the neighborhood."  
  
JC smiles warmly as he touches Lance's wrist. "How long are you staying?"  
  
"I haven't decided," Lance admits. He looks like he's about to say more, but then he just shakes his head and falls quiet.  
  
"Here," Chris says, as he tosses their accounts book at Lance. It's his temporary 'get out of jail free' card."Let's see what being in that fancy accountancy college has taught you."  
  
Lance rolls his eyes, but begins flipping through the book. Within seconds, his smile vanishes. "Chris, these accounts are messed up."  
  
"That's because I'm still only as good as math as I was in college," Chris replies, with a shrug.   
  
Lance chews on his lower lip for a moment, struggling with himself. When he looks up again, his gaze is steady. "Give me two weeks and I can put them in order."  
  
Chris blinks. "Lance--"  
  
"Take me on longer and I'll keep them that way."  
  
"Wow."  
  
Lance's shoulders slump, just a fraction. "I need a job," he says, quietly. "So if you're looking."   
  
"But the salary..." Chris trails off, then gestures around the store. "It pretty much speaks for itself."  
  
"I'll take it," Lance says, on some desperate burst of courage. "Whatever you're offering, I'll take it."  
  
JC stares, and Chris shakes his head. "I have fuck all to offer, man."  
  
Lance's eyes go oddly soft. "Chris."  
  
It's the first time in all the years they've known each other that Lance is asking him a favor. "Dammit," Chris mutters. "Fuck, okay, fine. You can have my share of the salary, for fuck's sake."  
  
JC turns to him, wide-eyed. "Right now, you aren't _getting_ a salary, Chris."  
  
"Motherfucking details."  
  
*  
  
It turns out that their accounts are in worse shape than any of them had expected, and sorting them out keeps Lance busy for the next couple of weeks. He sits Chris down when he's done, expression grave, fingers steepled, looking every inch like the accountant he'd gone away to become.  
  
"Chris," he says. It sounds like a death sentence, and the sudden, ridiculous streak of pride Chris had been feeling is immediately quashed. "You can't keep this up." Chris opens his mouth to protest, because what the hell is that supposed to mean, but Lance just pushes two large, green books across the table at him. "This?" Lance continues, as he gestures at the first book, "Is the company's monthly profit."   
  
It's a nice, healthy sum of money, and Chris lets out a low whistle.  
  
"And this," Lance adds, then, tapping the edge of the other book, "Is your personal expenditure."  
  
Chris all but slams that book shut. "What's your point?"  
  
Lance doesn't even flinch. "What's the plan here?" he counters. "Sure, on a good month, the money you get kissing Pearlman's ass is enough to cover the porn you're making on the side, but what happens when it doesn't?"  
  
Chris had almost forgotten what it's like to be on the receiving end of Lance's difficult questions. "That's your job, isn't it?" he replies, flatly. "Figuring out my exit strategy."   
  
Lance opens his mouth to protest, but then Erik storms into the room, clearly distraught. He marches up to Chris and shoves a couple of bills into his hand. "You're gonna have to find someone else."   
  
Whatever Chris had been about to say dies on his lips. "What?"   
  
"I can't do this stupid film," Erik says, as he scrubs a hand agitatedly through his hair. "He slept with Jacob, like, _two hours_ after me! God, it doesn't have to be chocolate and roses, but two _hours_?"   
  
"Is he serious?" Lance mutters.  
  
Chris isn't sure which 'he' Lance is referring to. So much for AJ employing his self-restraint.  
  
Erik takes a long, deep breath and shakes his head. "Look, I'm not paid enough to take this shit, okay? Just - find some other actor."   
  
He's gone before Chris can say another word, and there's a sudden burst of noise as Jacob comes into the store front before the doors have even swung fully shut, Justin at his heels.   
  
"Jacob, come on, man," he's saying, and Chris' stomach sinks. "It's a couple of hours on location, tops. You'll be in and out before you know it."  
  
"Trust me, I got a firsthand taste of that," Jacob sneers, darkly, barely looking over his shoulder at Justin as he stalks over to the counter. "Here's your money. Good fucking luck with your casting."  
  
"Jacob," Chris says.  
  
Justin winces as the door slams shut. Then he swivels around, glaring at AJ, who's just come into the room. "Goddammit, AJ," he snarls. "Keep it in your fucking pants!"  
  
AJ folds his arms over his chest. "What, you're jumping on the 'let's-ruin-AJ's-sex-life' wagon, too? Big surprise."  
  
"Goddammit!" Justin rails. "I am _sick_ of cleaning up after your fucking shit! Do you have any idea how hard it was to get those guys to come in to audition? What the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
"Sick of my shit?" AJ demands. "How is my personal life any of your goddamn business?"  
  
"If you stopped fucking people at _work_ ," Justin seethes. "It wouldn't have to be!"   
  
Lance puts a hand on Chris' shoulder. "We should--"  
  
Chris shoots him a quelling look. "We'll deal with this later," he says, steel in his voice. "Right now, I have a porno to save."  
  
Justin already has AJ backed up against the wall when Chris starts paying attention again. They're up in each other's faces, both yelling and pissed and just about ready to throw the first punch. "You want what I have," AJ spits. "You're pissed because I'm out getting some, and you don't know how to ask. It's pathetic."  
  
"What the hell do you know?" Justin growls. "You talk the talk, but what it fucking comes down to is--"  
  
"And then you kiss," Chris interrupts.  
  
"You're just--what?"  
  
"Then you kiss," Chris repeats mildly, spreading his hands. The hard look he gives AJ completely belies his tone. "You got us into this mess. You fix it."  
  
"Me?" AJ stares at Justin. "Us? Together?"   
  
"But I didn't do anything!" Justin protests, completely stricken. "Why am I being punished?"  
  
AJ's eyes narrow. "Yeah," he grits out. "Fucking an actual human being. There's a hardship."  
  
"Should I get you a mirror?" Justin sneers.  
  
AJ elbows him, hard. "Just don't fucking cry when I find someone else to sleep with after the shoot."  
  
"Yeah," Justin snorts. "You're a real classy act, McLean."  
  
Chris nods at them. "Perfect."  
  
*  
  
Chris thinks about drawing out the punishment for all of two seconds, but the customers are itching for a new release, and Joey's quickly running out of vacation days. When they film it, it's quick and dirty and gritty, and AJ lets Justin shove him against the wall hard enough to bruise. When they kiss, it's more of the same, tongue and teeth and wild, angry passion.  
  
"I fucking hate you," AJ snarls, barely any acting involved at all, and then Justin's hoisting him up, hands huge on his thighs, his hips, his ass. AJ holds onto him, fingernails digging into his back, and every time Justin moves, he pushes back, harder, rougher, till Justin's panting and moaning, nothing but AJ's name on his lips.  
  
"Cut!" Chris calls. He makes an abortive hand gesture at Joey, then shakes his head. "Justin, you're fucking overacting again. Tone it down. This isn't fucking Nirvana."  
  
"Overcompensating," AJ mutters. With the mic still plugged in, Chris can hear every word. "You seriously need to get laid."   
  
Justin elbows him hard. Chris coughs into his hand, and even JC has to excuse himself for some water.  
  
After a second, Joey clears his throat. "That's a wrap, guys. We'll, uh, we'll do something about that in post."  
  
*  
  
That takes care of the porn for now, but they're still out of talent, and AJ's not particularly subtle about the fact that he still isn't getting any. He's still moping when they call for pizza that night, as a reward of sorts, and it takes twice the usual amount of time before he comes back with their order.  
  
"About damn time," Chris grumbles, when AJ finally gets back with the food. "Now pass me the grub, and--oh my god. You fucked the pizza boy."  
  
AJ smirks, but he doesn't deny it. "I didn't know you were keeping tabs on my sex life outside of work."  
  
Chris flicks a piece of broken ceiling plaster at his head. "What else am I supposed to do? You fucking _advertise_ it."  
  
"I'm big on sharing," AJ agrees.  
  
Justin walks into the room, just then, only stopping short when he sees them. "Okay, you're either eye-wrestling, or I've just missed something huge. What's going on?"  
  
"AJ just fucked the delivery boy," Chris informs him, helpfully.  
  
"Dude!" Justin exclaims, leaning in with barely concealed interest. "Seriously? _Details_."  
  
Chris cuffs him upside the head. "Justin!"  
  
"You fucking perv," AJ snorts.  
  
"Ow!" Justin protests. "What? Can you blame me? I mean, hi, have you _seen_ the pizza guy?"  
  
AJ rolls his eyes, but his lips are curved. "His name is Brian."  
  
Justin looks at Chris imploringly. "Hi, have you _seen_ Brian?"  
  
Chris shakes his head. "Why do I even try?"  
  
Justin gives Chris a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek before turning back to AJ. "So? Spill."  
  
Like there was ever a chance of AJ doing anything but. "I told him my hand was becoming too familiar with my dick," he says, smugly. "And he offered to fix it."  
  
"Jesus Christ," Chris snorts. "With lines like that, who needs porn?"  
  
"And?" Justin prompts, completely ignoring Chris' interjection.  
  
"And?" AJ repeats, before he breaks into a grin; it's a cat-just-ate-the-twelve-singing-canaries kind of grin. "It was fucking awesome."  
  
Justin buries his face in his hands. "Fuck," he moans. "You're right. I need to get laid."   
  
Chris smacks the back of his head again. "Your sex lives are riveting," he deadpans. "And I'm so glad AJ's is fixed. But we're still out of talent."  
  
*  
  
As if in answer to Chris' prayers, Nick turns up the next day. "Halle-fucking-lujiah," Chris crows, when Nick comes into the store. For a second, he feels dangerously close to tears. "There is a god."   
  
Nick grins. He looks even broader than when he left, if that's possible. "Missed me, huh?"  
  
"Like you wouldn't believe," Chris concedes. "Please tell me you're here to make my porn."  
  
"Whenever you need me," Nick says, spreading his arms with a laugh. "Something else for the portfolio, right?"  
  
"Right," Chris agrees, as he ducks under the counter to grab the new script. "You could not have better fucking timing."  
  
"Hey," he hears Nick say, as he rifles through the growing stack of membership application forms. "I didn't know TRANS-PORN was hiring."  
  
"What, you mean Justin?" Chris asks, still sorting through the paperwork. "He's been here almost as long as you haven't, now."  
  
"Yeah?" There's a grin in Nick's voice. "Do you guys get smoke breaks?"   
  
"Justin doesn't need them," Chris points out. "Aha!" He emerges with his script in hand, and then pauses. Nick's grinning at him, in a way that clearly suggests he wants something. "What?"  
  
"Just wondering," Nick says, shrugging with a poorly concealed interest. "Do I finally get to pick who I have sex with this time?"  
  
*  
  
As it turns out, Justin and Nick have the kind of onscreen chemistry that most people only dream about. Nick is fucking adorable in his suit and tie, wire-rimmed glasses hanging off the edge of his nose. Justin looks like he thinks it, too, and when he approaches Nick it's with all the confidence of a boy who knows the streets firsthand.   
  
Chris believes it when he wraps a hand over Nick's tie and leans in, believes it even more when Nick leans back. When they kiss it's slow and thorough, Justin cupping the back of Nick's head like he's trying to steal Nick's breath. They fumble their way into an alley, Justin working on Nick's button-down the whole time.   
  
"How much for the night?" Nick asks, shakily, when they pull away to breathe.  
  
Chris believes that, too.  
  
*  
  
So the porn is great. The porn is fantastic. Sadly, in the movie that is Chris' life, things are less so. He's at the part of the storyline where the hero has to grit his teeth and get through it, sacrifices for the things he loves, all that work-now-happy-ending-later type of crap.   
  
It storms the next Monday, so heavily that he starts putting out buckets to catch the water dripping into the store. Howie looks up at the ceiling when an errant raindrop falls on his forehead. "You know," he says. "I think the roof is actually getting worse?"   
  
"Yeah," Chris nods, kicking at one of the pails. "Yeah, I know, I'll take care of it."   
  
Lance remains studiously quiet until Howie's gone. "We can't keep this up, Chris," he says, then. It's the confrontation Chris has been waiting for since their last exchange. "Pearlman's never in, and without his approval, you don't have the insurance to cover a repairman."  
  
"I know," Chris says, curtly.  
  
"Look, Chris, I know business is up, which means profits are up, but you're still taking home the same paycheck as you have been the last three years. Every month you're forking out money from your bonus, or your savings, to keep the filming going, and you can't keep it up because eventually, they're both gonna run dry."   
  
"I know that," Chris says, sharply. "But what am I supposed to do? Dammit, Lance, just get off my fucking back."  
  
"You _hired_ me to tell you these things," Lance points out, infuriatingly calm.  
  
Chris snorts. "Yeah."  
  
There's a second of silence. Then, "Look, I know you don't like what I'm saying, but I'm here because you _need_ me to be--"  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake! Don't give me that!" Chris explodes. The penis bell rings, then, and he bites out, "We're not fucking open," without taking his eyes off Lance. "You're back _here_ , Bass! You think I don't know what that means?"  
  
Heat flares up on Lance's cheeks, fire in his eyes. "What are you saying?"  
  
"Nothing you want to hear," Chris snaps. "But I know when the accounts don't add up, okay? So stop treating me like a fucking child."   
  
"I'll throw in some money," someone interrupts, before Lance can begin yelling in earnest, and Chris spins around. It's Kevin. "I've been a regular here for as long as you have," he says, evenly. "And this is the best damn porn I've seen since. I'm not gonna let you stop producing it."   
  
It's like being hit by a freight train. Chris gapes, and, to his credit, Lance doesn't argue.  
  
"So?" Kevin prompts, eventually. "I know you want my help. Now tell me what you need."  
  
*  
  
It turns out that the kind of help Kevin can provide is above and beyond what they really need. Not that Chris is complaining. They now have a comfortable margin to play with, which means that Lance is less testy, Chris is easier to negotiate with (though not by much) and they can actually afford to hold real auditions for actors with real talent.  
  
It's the first time that Chris sits through an entire session.  
  
"Wow," JC whispers, during the contortionist's performance.  
  
"No shit," Chris whispers back, before he leans in a little closer to AJ. "Stick with the damn delivery boy."   
  
*  
  
They end up casting three girls out of the whole bunch of people who come to audition, mostly because Joey insists it's high time they shoot porn a straight man can enjoy. "If I have to frame up one more gay threesome," he warns, and Chris finally relents, because that kind of sexual pressure can't be easy on anyone.   
  
Christina and Pink have been in the business forever, and Britney's just this side of crazy enough to try anything Chris suggests. She's also the most fucking flexible of the three, and when she spreads herself wider for Pink's fingers, and tips her head back far enough that she can nuzzle her lips over the inside of Christina's thigh, Chris knows they've got their money shot.   
  
*  
  
The lesbian threesome turns out to be one of their most profitable films yet, which Joey is more than happy to assume full credit for. Unfortunately, that just brings out the competitive streak in Chris, which makes it twice as hard to cast the leads for his next porno. "This is a fucking awesome script, okay?" he barks, at anyone brave enough to come for the auditions. "If you're not fucking doing it right, then you're just not fucking doing it right."  
  
He runs through what feels like twenty hundred actors, and no one feels right for the role. "It's prison porn," he complains to JC. "It's like the quintessential pornography premise! How can they not _get_ what I'm looking for?"   
  
He's contemplating throwing in the towel when he stumbles across him. The One. Justin's standing just outside the employee room, hands in his pocket, doing what Chris is pretty sure is his best impression of Blue Steel. The One is standing beside him, sandy-blonde hair, blue eyes, and clearly just as much a jock Justin is. He squares his jaw when Justin nudges him into trying out his own impersonation, and the transformation is instant. He has Nick Nolte fucking beat.  
  
Chris watches, transfixed, as Justin throws back his head dramatically and bursts into song. His acting partner just laughs and goes along with it, and Chris feels his stomach flip. AJ happens to walk by, then, and Chris grabs him. "He's it," Chris announces. "He's fucking perfect. He's the one."  
  
"What?" AJ demands.  
  
"Him!" Chris hisses, as he points out Justin's new reading partner to AJ. "Who the fuck is that? And where's he been all my life?"   
  
AJ's frown vanishes. "That?" he tells Chris. "Is Brian."  
  
Chris gapes as Brian hoists Justin effortlessly onto his back. "Holy shit," he breathes. "How the hell did you talk him into fucking you?"  
  
AJ's grinning now, confidence rolling off him in waves. "Same way I'll talk him into doing your film."  
  
*  
  
It takes more effort to talk Brian into saying 'yes' than AJ expects. Chris agrees to pay him an exorbitant amount of money ("It's not the cash," Brian says.) and to get AJ involved in the shoot ("If you think that'll help," Brian says.) and to use a fake name in the credits ("This probably isn't something my mom wants to see on my résumé," Brian says.) before Brian agrees.   
  
The worst part of it all is that the shoot doesn't start well. AJ talks to Chris before hand to make sure that they start Brian off with something easy. It's pretty conventional, as far as Chris' porn goes, nothing in the room but a small double-decker bed that AJ and Brian can just barely fit into, a tiny sponge-based sink, and a flickering bulb overhead. "Think claustrophobia," Chris instructs. "You're cellmates. Brian, it's your first day in prison, and you've gotta prove that you're not going to be anybody's bitch."  
  
"Uh," Brian says, casting an uncertain glance at AJ. "Okay?"  
  
"So we're going to start with you here, and AJ's going to kiss you--"  
  
*  
  
Half an hour later, they've got nothing. "And cut," Chris sighs, after the fifth take. Brian's still holding back, his shoulders going stiff every time AJ touches him, but only managing to carry that tension all the way through their first kiss before suddenly losing it.  
  
"Sorry," Brian huffs, as he scrubs a hand over his face, clearly frustrated.  
  
"It's okay," Chris says, resisting the urge to introduce his forehead to the wall. "You, uh, you're getting better."   
  
AJ raises an eyebrow, and Chris rolls his eyes and subsides.  
  
JC leans in, voice low. "Maybe we should we ask if they want to take five?"  
  
Chris shakes his head, rubbing furiously at his temples. "God, I don't know. We need to finish with this set today, or--"  
  
"Guys!" Joey hisses, abruptly.  
  
Chris looks up. AJ's lying spread-eagle on the bed, one of his hands curled loosely in Brian's hair, the other around Brian's neck, whispering in Brian's ear. Brian's head is tipped forward, almost on AJ's shoulder, his body drawn tight as a bowstring, and Justin's blushing, hard, eyes half-closed like he doesn't know where to look. Chris snatches the headphones off his head just in time to hear AJ say, "yeah, just - last night, remember? Fuck, Brian, just - just like that, _jesus_ ," before his voice tapers off into a long, slow groan, so rich Chris feels his spine prickle.   
  
"Fuck," Joey breathes, and Chris's gaze snaps over to the viewfinder. Brian has AJ pinned now, arms above his head, stretched languorously out over the bed so every inch of AJ's skin is covered with his own. Chris chokes a little when he realizes Brian's already moving, fingers clamped over AJ's wrists, fucking him so, _so_ slowly that the bunk barely even moves. Chris shoves the headphones back at Justin, and silently signals for Joey to track to the left.  
  
Even then, even without the headphones, Chris can hear AJ's teeth click.   
  
When he lets out a quiet, "Brian, _fuck_ ," it's almost tortured.   
  
"Shh," Brian murmurs, with a glint in his eye, before he leans down, teasing, his lips barely brushing AJ's when he adds, "Someone's gonna hear."   
  
AJ's mouth snaps shut, and the camera picks up every line of strain written on his face. There's complete and utter silence for a second, and even Chris hears AJ exhale when Brian grins, feral, and finally, _finally_ kisses him.  
  
Fuck, yes, Chris thinks. They can so fucking do this.  
  
*  
  
It takes fifteen minutes to wrap up. Brian takes his time, and AJ's not the only one who looks completely worn out by the time Chris calls for a cut. The silence lasts a little longer this time. "Yeah," Chris says, eventually. It comes out a little breathless, and JC coughs. Chris clears his throat. "Yeah, uh. That - that's the main take down."  
  
"How many times do we have to do this?" Brian asks, without looking up. His voice is dangerously quiet. Chris has to pause for a second to get his brain to start working again.  
  
"Uh," Chris says. "A couple. Probably. Maybe - maybe more. For the close ups."  
  
"And we can't switch positions."  
  
Chris swallows. "Uh, no."   
  
"Good," Brian says, with a smile, and Chris can see the way AJ twitches, the way he tries to lift his hips, even from where he's standing.   
  
Joey coughs, then, and Justin's face is still decidedly flushed.  
  
"Hey, C," Chris croaks. "How about we get everyone a bottle of water?"  
  
JC flees without another word.  
  
*  
  
It's barely two days later when Chris walks in on AJ and Justin. More accurately, AJ and Justin tumble out of a trailer in front of him. Together.   
  
Chris balks. For a second he doesn't know where to look. "AJ! Jesus. What did I say about not fucking the talent?"  
  
AJ's mouth quirks, at that. "Well, I gotta be fucking somebody."  
  
"Huh," Justin pipes up. "I think that's the first time you've lumped my name in that category."  
  
Chris glowers. "Don't push your luck, smartass." He turns back to AJ. "Man, I am running out of ways to tell you--"   
  
Then the door to their flimsy, makeshift trailer swings open again, and Chris breaks off mid-tirade as Nick and Brian come out from behind it, wearing identical smirks and looking entirely satisfied. He looks from them to AJ, who's grinning smug and accomplished, and Justin, whose mouth is still glossy with spit and god-only-knows what else. "You know what," Chris says, holding up a hand before anyone thinks to start explaining, "I don't even want to know." He turns and storms back towards the set. "Just make sure your asses are on set in five fucking minutes!"  
  
"Sir, yes sir!" AJ replies. Chris doesn't need to look to know he's tearing off a salute.  
  
"Fucking brats," Chris gripes, under his breath. He pulls a face. "I'm a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. Swear to god, he's going to run us out of staff. Fucking Buddhist monastery couldn't teach him self-restraint--"  
  
"Think there's room for a cameo in this film?" someone says, then, and Chris stops short. It sounds a lot like--  
  
"Cook?" Chris demands. He turns, and Cook's standing right there, onset. He's not alone, and it only takes Chris a second to place the other guy. It's the Idol runner-up.   
  
Cook grins. "Hey, man. I was in the neighborhood."  
  
It's such typical Cook behavior that Chris has to grin back. "Come here, asshole," he laughs, as he tugs Cook into a hug. "Jesus, you look good. How long's it been?"  
  
"You know," Cook says, as he claps Chris on the back, "I haven't been keeping track." He's still grinning as he pulls back. "Let me make the introductions. Chris, this is David Archuleta, the twelve-year-old who nearly kicked my ass on national TV. David, Chris Kirkpatrick, also twelve, and apparently a porn director."  
  
"Hey," Chris says, as he extends a hand. The situation is a little too bizarre for him to feel anything but bemused. "You know, I have no idea what the American public is thinking. You sang circles around this guy."  
  
"Aww, no," David says, as he ducks his head on a laugh. "Cook's awesome. But, um, thank you. It's really nice to meet you. Cook's been all, like, oh, he's so awesome, I can't wait to introduce you, and stuff, so."  
  
"Awesome, huh?" Chris smirks, and Cook rolls his eyes as he slings an arm around David's shoulder.  
  
"Not a word, asshole," he warns. To David, he adds, "We're going to have to stop hanging out if you keep selling me out like this."  
  
"Um, so," David says quickly. "Maybe we could get a tour of the set now?"  
  
Before Chris can reply, Justin comes out onset, tugging at his mesh shirt. "Okay," he says. "I'm ready for my shot, and this thing itches like crazy, so can we--holy shit."  
  
Cook raises a hand in a half-wave. "Hi."  
  
Justin gapes for a second, speechless, before he plucks a pen out of thin air. "Oh my god, can I get an autograph?"   
  
"What's going on?" Nick asks, as he materializes on set. "Hey, isn't that--"  
  
"Yes," Chris sighs. "Yes, it is. And apparently I've been grooming his biggest groupie."  
  
"I voted for you when I was _broke_ ," Justin's saying, and Chris groans as Cook shoots him an amused look over Justin's shoulder, clearly stifling a grin.  
  
"Oh, fuck me," Chris mutters, as Nick coughs into his palm.  
  
Then Justin pulls out his phone, leaning in for a "really quick picture, I swear, my mom is gonna flip out," and Nick starts laughing in earnest.   
  
*  
  
"Wait," Justin says. It's half an hour later, and he's been quizzing Cook on Chris' life history for almost half that time. "Wait, so you guys _sang_? What, like, together? Seriously?"  
  
Cook grins. "That's what I'm saying, man."  
  
Justin looks at Chris, mouth twitching, and when Chris glares he cracks up completely, burying his face in his hands.  
  
Cook seems dangerously close to losing it himself, and David's hiding his smile in his cup of water. Chris scowls. "You," he says to AJ. "Get our shit set up. I'm going to get this man off my set."  
  
Justin's too busy laughing to protest as Chris leads Cook away from the scene. "So," Cook says, laughter still clear in his voice. "Do we still get that tour?"  
  
"You've pretty much seen all of it," Chris admits, as they navigate their way to the store's back room. "But if you pretend Justin never happened, I'll throw in some free porn."   
  
David squirms. "Um," he says.  
  
Cook's smile is almost predatory. "Sounds like a plan."  
  
Five minutes later, they're all set up. The lights have all been switched off, Hips Don't Lie is slotted in the player, and Chris says, "Just press play and you're good to go."  
  
David actually meeps, and Chris makes a hasty exit when Cook laughs. The last thing he hears as he heads back towards the set is David whispering, "Um. Was that her hand in his - oh my _gosh_. Um, Cook?"  
  
And then there's a burst of Cook's loud, amused laughter. "Yeah, that's her hand on his--"  
  
" _Oh,_ " David says. He sounds uncomfortable. "Oh, um. I - I think I may have a, um, a problem. Uh, where's the bathroom? No, wait, oh my gosh, _Cook_! We're in public!"  
  
"I know," Cook laughs again, lower this time, and then the couch groans in protest. "Have I ever told you I've always wanted to have sex on a movie set?"  
  
*  
  
"Oh my god," Justin says later that night, after they've wrapped up and both the Davids have left. It's the most star-struck Chris has seen him. "Oh my god, I can't believe you know a _rock star_."  
  
"Yeah, I got that the first seventy hundred times," Chris snaps. "Isn't there inventory you should be taking?"  
  
"Such a ray of sunshine, Kirkpatrick," Justin snarks back, but he rolls his eyes and plants a loud, huge, wet one on Chris' cheek before disappearing into the backroom. Chris makes a huge show of wiping the slobber off his face and glaring after him.  
  
Which is when AJ waltzes back into the store, fresh from his coffee break, and looks from Chris to Justin's back with a smirk. "Jealous isn't a good color on you," he singsongs, as he walks past.  
  
"Suck my dick," Chris sings back.  
  
Asshole never bothers with context.  
  
*  
  
The thing is, Chris isn't expecting Cook's visit to be anything more than just that. But word somehow gets out that David Cook, the newly-crowned American goddamn Idol, spent an entire night camped out at TRANS-PORN, and business goes up threefold. They have to hire a couple of part-timers just to keep up with it all. (Now, Chris isn't pointing any fingers, but Justin really has to learn when to keep his fucking mouth shut.)   
  
They're still churning out porn, almost twice as quickly as they used to, and each time a new release goes up for rent, it's snapped up and put on the most recommended list for weeks. At first, Chris slots the tapes in with the rest of the porn. Lou comments on their increasing profit margin, once or twice, but other than that and a rogue hand on Chris' ass, doesn't seem to notice what's going on. Eventually, they make so many videos that Chris clears out an entire shelf just for them, and when Lou doesn't protest, clears out a second one, too, for future use.   
  
He's just congratulating himself on a job well done when he realizes he's locked himself out of the store. Again. He groans as he drops his forehead against the cool glass doors, then bangs it a couple of times for good measure. Howie's not due in till the next shift, and AJ's not due in at all.  
  
He says as much, once Chris calls him up. "Dude," he mutters. "I'm kind of busy at the moment." His voice goes muffled for a moment, and Chris hears Brian's voice in the background before AJ comes back again. "Call Howie, dammit."  
  
"You think I haven't tried?" Chris hisses. "Brian got you to stop scaring off my goddamn pornstars. Do you really think I want to fuck with that?"  
  
AJ swears under his breath. "You know he's probably screening your calls, right? Sweet D, my ass."  
  
"Okay, that's gonna be one hell of a debate when the time comes, but can we focus on getting me back inside the shop for now?"  
  
"Dammit, Chris," AJ mutters, but Chris can hear a rustling noise, followed by another low murmur from Brian. "This is the last time, I swear to god. Just make yourself another set of fucking keys."   
  
"I'm not authorized to do that," Chris tells him, letting out a relieved sigh.   
  
"Oh for fuck's sake," AJ says, harshly. "You need to get your priorities straight!"  
  
"Yeah, but--"   
  
"Listen," AJ seethes. "You reshuffle our shifts when we have scheduling conflicts, you interview the damn job applicants, you close the store for two hours for a fucking party, _and_ you use company equipment to make your own damn porn, but you're not authorized to do _this_?"  
  
"I--"  
  
AJ makes a violent noise of protest. "This is practically _your store_!"  
  
Chris pauses, at that and after a moment, AJ exhales.   
  
"Fucking finally," he mutters, under his breath. A little louder, he adds, "I'm putting in an order for a new set of keys."  
  
*  
  
That is how, two days later, Chris finds himself in possession of a spare key. "It's not a big deal," AJ says, as he hands it over to Chris. "Who's going to know?"  
  
It's true. It's pretty insignificant, as far as things go, but when Chris puts it to the lock for the first time that day, he freezes. He stands there for a moment, fists clenched, heart racing, and thinks, _fuck it_.   
  
He wants it to be a big damn deal.  
  
It's one of the rare occasions that Lou is actually in his office, and Chris doesn't waste any time waiting for an answer when he knocks on the door. Lou looks up when he enters, completely unruffled, and suddenly Chris' palms are sweating. "What do you want?" Lou asks, as he snaps the folder he's been reading shut. "Make it snappy."  
  
"Mr. Pearlman," Chris says, as he walks the rest of the way in and puts his hands on the edge of Lou's desk. "What do you say to selling me the store?"  
  
"TRANS-PORN?" Pearlman asks. As if he's confused. As if he doesn't know exactly where this is going.  
  
Chris feels his blood begin to heat. "Yes sir," he says. His voice is quiet and steady. "See, I'm willing to make you an offer, 'cause it's all or nothing for me at this point. I can't work for you anymore. I can't work for a shop like this and love it the way I do when it's not mine to love. It just isn't worth it, Mr. Pearlman. So I'm laying my cards on the table. Five thousand dollars for the store. It's all I've got, sir, and then some."  
  
Lou's eyeing him speculatively, and Chris is furious when his first instinct is to shrink back. "And if I say no?"  
  
"Then I walk," Chris replies. There's nothing left for him here except possibility. He tilts his head up, just a fraction.  
  
"And why would that bother me?"  
  
"Because I'm the best damn employee you've got," Chris replies. "I may not know a lot of things, but I do know that. I've been here almost four years now, and I've seen it all. I know the people, I know the porn, I know the business. You can try, but if I leave, you won't turn half the profit we're making now, and everything's just gonna go back to the way it was when the strip club just opened." Chris shakes his head. "I don't want that, sir, and I'm thinking you don't, either."  
  
There's silence for a moment, and Chris' heart is working a mile a minute when Lou finally rubs his chin. "You drive a hard bargain, Kirkpatrick."  
  
Chris nods. He's had years to learn.  
  
Lou watches him with a mild, beady-eyed interest. "And you want this store."  
  
"Yes, sir," Chris repeats, quieter still.  
  
Lou smiles then, leaning back in his seat. "Call it seven and you have yourself a deal, boy."  
  
Chris has never had to think about anything less in his life.  
  
*  
  
The first thing he does is break the news. To Lance. Who stares at Chris for a moment, then says, with laughter threaded thick in his tone, "right, yeah, what the hell does he think he's playing at?"   
  
Chris frowns. He needs to stop listening to the voice in his head that keeps telling him that Lance should be the first person to hear things like this - _good_ things. Lance is a bitch on his best days.   
  
Lance's expression shifts with Chris' silence. "Christopher."   
  
Chris shrugs, without quite looking at him, and Lance groans. "Jesus Christ, Chris. Realtors. They're called _realtors_. It's not a difficult concept to understand."   
  
"Couldn't wait that long," Chris argues. "You know how I get."  
  
"Yeah," Lance bites back, frustration clear in his tone. "Like a damn bull in a china shop." Chris opens his mouth to protest, but Lance holds up a hand, then pinches the bridge of his nose. "Just - there's a reason you told me this first, okay? And it wasn't for a goddamn pom-pom party. So listen to me and don't fucking _do_ it, dumbass. You never read the fine print."  
  
Except Chris does. He fucking reads every last word of the contract, pores over every line - even checks the online dictionary for all the legal jargon he doesn't understand - to see if there's a catch he's missing.  
  
There isn't.  
  
Seven thousand dollars in cash, a pen to the dotted line, and Lou signs the store over to him on a Tuesday.   
  
Lance is not impressed.  
  
Chris buys all of them a round that night to celebrate anyway, and then a couple rounds more. People are catcalling, yelling out best wishes and congratulations, and on his fifth shot he's drunk enough to let Justin crowd him into an empty booth and kiss him dizzy.   
  
"Wait," he mumbles, against Justin's mouth, when it feels like there isn't enough oxygen in the room.   
  
"Please," Justin murmurs, before kissing him even harder, licking into the roof of Chris' mouth like he's trying to prove a point. "Chris, please."   
  
And yeah, okay, Chris thinks breathlessly, he's not going to argue with that.  
  
Justin kisses him like he never wants to be doing anything else, like he _means_ it, and Chris is so caught up in it that he barely even notices when Nick slides into the booth across them, and downs the three shots still sitting on the table in one breath. Justin's only response to the intrusion is a brief pause, and then a tilt of his head for a better angle. Chris moans, and they don't stop again, not even when the rest of the crew turns up a little while later.   
  
Everyone's there but JC, who - AJ informs Chris tartly - begged off sick about five minutes ago.  
  
Chris extricates himself from Justin long enough to crow, "Soup! Someone bring the man a soup!"   
  
Justin just rolls his eyes and grabs for Chris again, tugging him back down. He tastes like beer and cherries and old spice, and Chris is pretty sure that shouldn't taste as good as it does. He thinks that it probably wouldn't, if he wasn't already so drunk he can barely feel his feet. Eventually, Justin lets out a quiet little purr and his mouth drifts downwards, over the hollow of Chris' throat. Chris tips his head to the side with what AJ will swear in later years is a giggle, and, as Justin breathes out warm against his skin, promptly falls asleep.   
  
*  
  
When Chris wakes up, the clock reads 9:04. He's alone. His mouth tastes like ass and he feels like his head is about to explode.   
  
It's still the best fucking morning of his life.  
  
*  
  
Unfortunately, as we've all learned, happy doesn't last forever.  
  
*  
  
Chris arrives at the store half an hour late, bleary-eyed. Still, he stops for a second in the parking lot, just to look the store over, taking it all in. The keys are a warm, solid weight in his hand, and his pulse stutters. If this were a movie, there'd be a goddamn montage right now, detailing every significant moment he's spent in this place. It's a little like falling in love.  
  
Then he gets a little closer, and he sees a couple of suits clustered around the shop front. He stops cold, his stomach suddenly in knots. "Mr. Kirkpatrick?" they say. "May we have a minute?"   
  
Chris looks at them, from their perfectly pressed shirts, to their matching blazers and their shiny new shoes, and doubles over to throw up.   
  
They seal up the store, and he's issued a letter of eviction by the end of the morning shift.


	4. Reel Three

It's four hours later, and Chris is still sitting outside TRANS-PORN, staring wordlessly at the yellow tape pasted over the doors. That's how AJ finds him when he gets in for his shift.  
  
"For fuck's sake, Chris," he sighs. "Did you lock yourself out again?" And then he sees the debris lining the road, the overturned trash cans, the torn strips of paper; all the makings of a human stampede. "Jesus. What the hell happened here?" he demands.  
  
It'd taken an hour to calm the mob down. Customers had gathered outside the main doors, expecting answers, insisting on refunds, adamant that they be let inside. The regulars had been even harder to disperse; they're all on Chris' side, every one of them offering to attest to the safety of the building, to the work that they've seen him put in. And then Kevin had pulled him aside and said, "We'll hold a fucking rally if we have to."  
  
It had felt like a sucker punch to the gut, knowing he'd let so many people down.  
  
Chris presses his face into his knees. "It's the roof," he says. He sounds much calmer than he feels. "We're in violation of the safety codes for the roof."   
  
AJ gapes down at Chris, and then he turns back to the store. Finally, the yellow tape seems to register. "Oh my god."  
  
Chris forces his head up at that. "AJ," he says. "It's over. We're done."   
  
For a long moment, AJ doesn't speak. Then, "He knew, didn't he?" he snarls. "Pearlman knew this was going to happen, that motherfucking son of a bitch!"  
  
"I've tried calling," Chris says, wearily. "His cell goes straight to voicemail. His home line's been disconnected. The address he left in the employee emergency contact sheet? Doesn't exist." He shakes his head on a laugh. "For all we know, he never even gave us his real name."  
  
"Shit." AJ's pacing now, hands flexing at his sides. "Shit, shit, goddamn fucking prick."  
  
"I tried that," Chris says, solemnly. "Clicked my heels three times. Rubbed a lamp. Offered to pawn my soul. Doesn't look like it's gonna work."  
  
AJ swivels around to stare at him. "What are you - you're fucking _joking_. What the _fuck_ is funny about this?"   
  
Chris huffs out a laugh. "Everything," he says. "It's all one big punch line."   
  
"Goddammit, Chris!" AJ growls, clearly angry and frustrated and fucking terrified. "I can't deal with your shit right now, so snap the fuck out of it and focus! Tell me who else you've called, and give me our fucking list of suppliers."  
  
At AJ's insistence, they spend the rest of the afternoon calling in favors and checking in on their other business associates, wheedling, threatening, and, once or twice, coming dangerously close to begging.  
  
Lou is nowhere to be found.  
  
*  
  
They call a meeting with the rest of the TRANS-PORN staff - including their unofficial members - that evening, right outside the store. (Chris is all for keeping the entire affair under wraps until he can figure out a workable solution, but AJ refuses to let that happen. "I'm going to fucking call every one of them myself if you're too chickenshit to do it yourself," he threatens, and eventually Chris has to give in.) He does away with the niceties and the 'brace yourself' speech that AJ practically tries to write for him, just shows them all the eviction notice and explains their situation exactly the way it was explained to him that morning.   
  
"Fuck," AJ swears, despite the fact that this is the third time he's heard the story. "Motherfucking--"  
  
"I told you," Lance adds, but he never takes his eyes off the eviction form, glaring his way through it like he might suddenly develop x-ray vision that will help him either figure out how to get them out of this mess or burn the damn papers altogether. "I fucking told you, Chris."  
  
A long, suffocating silence follows, which Chris doesn't try to interpret.  
  
"Is that even legal?" Justin asks, finally. There's a hitch in his voice, and his lips are red raw where he's been chewing on them. "I mean, they can't just--"  
  
Chris shakes his head, and Justin's mouth snaps shut. "I don't know, kid," he says, wearily. "But I don't have the cash to hire a lawyer to find out."   
  
"Maybe Cook," Justin suggests, in a small voice, but Chris shoots him a look and he doesn't finish his sentence.  
  
Nick exhales, heavily, and runs a quick hand through his hair. "This is messed up, man."  
  
Howie worries at his lower lip. "What if we all chip in?" he volunteers. "What if we pool our cash and get someone to come in and fix the roof--"  
  
"They're giving us till the end of the month to move the inventory," JC says, quietly, looking up from where he and Lance have been reading the notice. His hands are clasped, knuckles white from the pressure. "It's non-negotiable."  
  
Joey nods slowly, before turning to Chris. "Okay," he says, and spreads his hands, palms up. "What do you want to do?"   
  
This is how they operate. It's Joey's way of saying _you can fix this_ , and _I'm with you_ , no strings attached. Chris appreciates the gesture. "It's late," he replies, finally. "There isn't a lot we can do right now. Just go home, get some rest, and we'll talk in the morning."  
  
It's the closest he'll come to saying _I don't know_ , and Joey knows it, if the expression on his face is any indication. To his credit, though, he just nods, and puts a hand on Chris' shoulder. "In the morning," he repeats, gently.  
  
Justin opens his mouth to protest, obviously stricken, but Nick puts a quelling hand on his shoulder, and he subsides.  
  
They shuffle towards the exit, exchanging subdued goodbyes. Lance is stiff the entire time, but he relents at the door. "Look," he mutters, softly enough that no one else can overhear, "You're a fucking moron, but you're not the only one who wants this place to work. We'll figure something out."  
  
Justin's the last one out, and he pulls Chris aside long enough to tug him into a hard hug. "We're going to fix this, I swear," he says, quiet but convicted. Chris pats his back, awkwardly, before pulling away with a nod.  
  
Justin looks him over, still full of concern. "You probably shouldn't be driving in the meantime, though. I'm catching a ride with Nick. Do you want us to drop you off?"  
  
Chris just shakes his head. "Gonna close up here," he says. "There's some stuff I have to go through."  
  
"Yeah," Justin says, and it's a little closer to the confident young man Chris recognizes. "You do that. We're gonna be okay."   
  
Then he leaves, and Chris is alone again. The store is utterly still in front of him.  
  
He returns to the spot he was standing in that morning, drawing a deep, shuddery breath as he scrubs a hand over his face. The light from the street lamps flicker across the yellow tape plastered over the storefront.   
  
This was it. This was his.  
  
"Oh my god," he whispers. His gut clenches, and he nearly folds to his knees. He shoves his shaking hands into his pockets and stares, unblinking, till his eyes start to burn and his chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself. "Oh my god."  
  
He presses his fist to his mouth, hard, and clenches his jaw. Jesus Christ, he's not going to fucking _cry_. What the fuck will that accomplish? He has a team to think about, an empty bank account, a family expecting a monthly income--  
  
Someone steps up behind him, then. "Chris."   
  
Just like that, Chris' resolve cracks. "Fuck, _C_ ," he chokes out.  
  
 _This was supposed to be everything_ , he wants to say. _This was fucking everything._ But the words are like a noose around his neck, and his throat closes up.  
  
"I'm going to be sick," he mumbles, instead, and turns away as he doubles over.  
  
JC doesn't say a word, but his hand is warm on Chris' back, and it stays there a long time that night, till Chris' stomach is empty, and his throat is raw, and he stops feeling like the ground has fallen away from under him.   
  
*  
  
There is no meeting the next morning, though it's not for a lack of trying on everyone else's part. Chris comes awake when the pounding in his head is physically manifested as an irate Joey pounding at his door, yelling about "acting like a fucking adult for once in your fucking life, asshole!" Joey never yells. If he concentrates, he can hear AJ and Justin, too, voices a low hum through the thin walls.  
  
Chris rolls over and goes back to sleep.   
  
When he wakes up again, it's dark out - or it could be sometime in the afternoon, he can't tell with his curtains drawn - and JC's still outside his apartment. He can hear JC's voice echoing in the corridor, low and soothing as he hums. It sounds like a lullaby.  
  
He reaches for his stereo, switches it on. Cranks up the volume till all there is is _someone I never had the chance to be I'm wasting away_ beating like a slow pulse in his ears. He shoves his head under a pillow.   
  
The heat in his bedroom is stifling, and he's sweating even though all he has on are a pair of slacks. He kicks those off, pulls the covers over his head, and closes his eyes as he breathes in deep.   
  
They're back the next morning, all of them. Joey cajoles, thunders, pulls rank, before letting AJ take the second shift. Chris stays in bed, stares blankly out the window like he doesn't even hear. They keep it up for four days, maybe five, but Chris never answers, and eventually Joey says, "I'm fucking done here," disgusted and miserable and fucking pissed off.  
  
He doesn't come back.  
  
JC sighs, presses his forehead against the door and says, "Chris."  
  
Chris doesn't open the door then, either.  
  
He's fucking stubborn when he wants to be, and he knows with unshakable certainty that this isn't something they can fix.  
  
This is how it ends.  
  
Some fucking movie.  
  
*  
  
It takes eight days for Chris to finally talk himself into getting out of bed. It's not so much a choice as it is an ultimatum; he has two days to get all that porn out of the store, and fuck if he's leaving anything behind for the goddamn vultures. He may have shit to his name, but he can still be a mingy bastard.  
  
It's going to take him more than one trip to clear all their stock, and he barely notices the drive up as he thinks it. There's nothing here he hasn't seen before; the shops are the same, the traffic, the people. Four damn years, and nothing's changed.  
  
The parking lot is completely deserted. The strip joint isn't open yet, and Chris thinks numbly that they're going to be back to full capacity in no time, with TRANS-PORN out of the way.   
  
No one stops to give him a hand, or even to watch. No one wonders who he is or why the fuck he's practically robbing the store blind. Justin finds him on his fifth trip, emptying out the last of the porn into his car.   
  
"Hi," Justin says, after they've looked at each other in silence for a minute. He sounds surprised.   
  
"Hi," Chris says, shortly. There are dark rings around Justin's eyes, new lines around his mouth, and Chris notices all of that before he realizes that Justin's in the TRANS-PORN uniform. "You look like shit."  
  
Justin laughs, a startled, brittle sound. "You look like you need a shave," he counters.  
  
Chris rubs his hand over his mouth, smile fading. "Yeah," he says, and then he turns back to the porn.   
  
"I, uh," Justin goes on, and Chris sees him shove his hands in his pockets out of the corner of his eye. "Nick left something here, so I just swung by to..."  
  
"Yeah," Chris repeats.   
  
Justin nods, and stands there watching Chris move the tapes for a minute. "That's a lie," he admits, eventually, gaze heavy on Chris' back. "I just wanted to see the store."  
  
"Okay," Chris says, noncommittally, and hefts another armful of tapes into his trunk. "Happy looking."  
  
"That's it?" Justin asks flatly, eyes narrowed as he folds his arms, watching Chris go back for another set of cassettes. "That's all you have to say?"  
  
"Yep," Chris says, mildly.  
  
Justin shakes his head in disgust. "Un-fucking-believable."  
  
"I try."   
  
Justin's expression draws tighter, at that. His face grows pinched, and his fists are clenched. He follows Chris as Chris loads the next batch of videos into his car. "So what?" he demands. "The shop is done, big fucking deal. Come _on_ , Chris. Porno? Is that what you wanted? To be a porn director?"  
  
Chris barely even pauses. "It's a step above snuff."  
  
"Oh, come _on_!" Justin explodes. "Don't fucking do this!"  
  
Chris slams the hood shut like he hasn't even heard.   
  
"Chris."  
  
He pushes past Justin and gets into his car. Revs the engine.  
  
Justin pounds a fist against his window. "Goddammit, Chris!"  
  
He steps on the gas, and then he's pulling away.  
  
Justin yells after him in his rearview mirror. "When are you gonna stop fucking _running_?"   
  
Chris doesn't watch the scenery on the route back.  
  
*  
  
He buys himself a couple of six-packs later that night. He puts 'Dude, Where's My Dildo?' on TV and sinks into his couch, one arm wrapped around his booze. It's the first meal he remembers having in days. He cusses at his screen when the cheesy music starts playing in the background, but watches it all the way through once anyway, then rewinds it and starts it all over again.   
  
He's on his third viewing, wondering how long he can survive on beer and peanuts and porn before he starves or goes insane, when there's a knock on the door.   
  
"Who is it?" he singsongs, nearly stumbling over a stack of VHS tapes as he pushes to his feet. Okay. He might be a little drunker than he thought.  
  
"It's Lance. Let me in."  
  
Chris groans, and slumps back into his chair. "Are you here for a pity fuck?" he calls.  
  
There's a pause. "Chris."  
  
"Didn't think so," Chris sighs, and shakes his head. "If you're here to yell at me, Bass, you have to get in line. Think it goes as far back as 'round the block."  
  
"Open the door."  
  
"Shush," Chris says, gesturing vaguely with a hand, and only narrowly missing his fresh can of beer. "I'm wallowing. You don't barge in on people when they're wallowing."  
  
"Christopher." Lance sounds entirely unimpressed. "Let me in."  
  
"Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin," Chris snorts. "Find someone else to lecture, Lance!"  
  
He can hear Lance draw a long, sharp breath, even from the other side of the door. "I'm not here to yell. Let me in."  
  
Chris considers this for a moment, before grudgingly getting to his feet. "If you're lying," he grumbles, as he shuffles across the room to open the door. "I'm going to fucking kill you."  
  
"Here," Lance says, thrusting a paper bag at Chris when he finally gets the door open. "I figured we'd need alcohol."  
  
Chris all but grabs Lance in a hug. "I'm so glad I didn't fucking kill you," he mumbles, and then they proceed to get completely, shit-faced drunk.   
  
"I fucking hate my life," Chris says, to the ceiling, as he flops back against the foot of his couch. "I was just gonna, like, start stuff. And then I bought the stupid store, and I was gonna, y'know?" He brings his thumb and index finger close together, then waves them in Lance's face. "So close, and then I get kicked out. What the fuck?"  
  
"It's messed up," Lance agrees. His accent's starting to show, and it makes him sound warm and honey-sweet. "Shit's always happening to good people."  
  
"I'm an asshole," Chris points out, without heat. He feels like he's floating. "Shit happens to me."  
  
Lance laughs, a low rumble of sound, before crawling over from his end of the couch to kiss Chris' cheek. "You're not an asshole," he says.  
  
Chris shakes his head, and turns away. And then Lance says, "Hey," and cups his jaw, touches his mouth. "Hey, m'serious. I mean it."   
  
They sit like that for a second, so close that they're sharing breath. Up close, Lance is really, really pretty, with those stupidly pretty eyes, and then Chris kind of leans in, and Lance lets him. They kiss for a while, clumsy and wet, until Chris' nose bumps against Lance's teeth.  
  
Chris jerks back, then, and Lance blinks. They stare.  
  
Then Chris' mouth twitches, and they're both laughing. They just - it's them, it's _them_ , and they've known each other forever, almost since they were born, and this is ten thousand kinds of weird, and everything is kind of fucking hysterical. At least until Chris remembers--  
  
"I let him grope me," he moans, and Lance stops laughing, moves to curl up beside Chris instead, a warm, solid weight. "Four fucking years, I let him grope me. And this is the thanks I get." He drops his forehead on the table. "My ass feels inadequate."  
  
Lance's hand slips a little as he pats Chris' back. "You have a nice ass," he says, comfortingly. "'Sides, s'not like you were fucking him."  
  
"S'that it?" Chris asks, in a moment of sudden clarity. "You were fucking your boss in Boston?"  
  
"And then his wife found out," Lance nods. "It was _fucked up_. And then I got fired, and I couldn't go home because my mom was all, 'God will fix it, honey! Come home and we'll pray and God will make Michelle forget that you slept with her husband and then maybe they'll even hire you again!', so." He shakes his head. "No. You were safer."  
  
"Suck," Chris says, and shifts over so Lance can pillow his head on his shoulder. "I would never make you pray."  
  
"S'why I'm here," Lance slurs.  
  
Chris hums as he rests his cheek on Lance's hair. "Bet I've got a nicer ass, too."  
  
*  
  
Chris doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep till he wakes up with a crick in his neck, Lance's drool on his cheek, and the worst hangover of his life. His cell phone is ringing, shrill and sharp in his ear, and he lets out a quiet, unhappy moan as he reaches for it. "What?" he barks. Beside him, Lance stirs.  
  
"So I hear you're in a bit of a jam," Cook says. "Do I get to bail you out this time?"  
  
*  
  
It's not really a question, because Cook refuses to take 'no' for an answer, barrels through all of Chris' protests and concerns with an easy, "I got it covered, okay?" and sets up a meeting for later. By noon, they're discussing details at Chris' apartment, contracts drawn up and waiting to be signed ("just so you know I'm fucking serious about this," Cook explains).   
  
Chris isn't even surprised when Justin shows up, too, looking sheepish but determined.   
  
"You piece of shit," Chris mutters, as he lets them both in.  
  
"You're welcome," Justin whispers back.  
  
Lance ignores them all in favor of taking the legal papers from Cook the second he comes through the door, all business, and Chris doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's still got wrinkles on his cheek from sleeping on Chris' shoulder.   
  
"Everything looks legit," Lance says, after about an hour. "No catches, no unexpected clauses. Just money, and porn." The notion seems to almost confuse him.  
  
"So that's it?" Justin asks, for about the eighth hundred bazillionth time that afternoon.  
  
Cook just shrugs and nods, also for the eighth hundred bazillionth time, smug grin firmly in place. "That's it," he affirms.  
  
Justin's eyes are wider than Chris has ever seen when he turns around, mouth hanging open. "That's it," he repeats, clearly in awe. "That's fucking _it_ , Chris."  
  
Chris rolls his eyes, but his hands are twitching in his pockets. "Dial it down, Timberlake," he warns. He's only half kidding. "If Cook pulls out because he thinks my colleagues are retards, you're fired." Cook's still wearing that shit-eating grin when Chris turns back to him. "Seriously, you little fuck. You're going to blow ten thousand dollars on me and all you want is crappy ass gay porno to show your competitors?"  
  
"No," Cook corrects. "I'm going to _corrupt_ my ex-competitors. And I want the kinkiest goddamn gay porno you have."  
  
Chris just _looks_ at him for a hard moment, till Cook rolls his eyes and punches his shoulder. "Look, Chris, I've seen your work, okay? Shut up. I have. And no one else is gonna be crazy enough to give you the kind of money you're asking for with the kind of notice you're giving. It sucks, but you know that's how it is. And after all the shit we've been though together..." Cook shrugs and shakes his head, and even before he finishes the thought, Chris knows he's right. "Man, do you really have to look this one in the mouth?"  
  
Chris has a sudden flashback to the old Axium days, when they'd travelled from pub to pub, desperate to make a name for their little three-man band. He remembers the crazy motherfucker who could match him shot for shot after each set, eyes bloodshot and gleaming, and then go one better. Chris laughs, roughly, and punches Cook back. "Whatever, man. Anything to keep you from fucking bawling all over me again."   
  
"Asshole," Cook says, fondly. His grin shows off all his teeth. "So are we gonna do this or what?"  
  
Chris pauses, sharing a quick look with Lance. Then he looks down at his hands for a second, because Jesus fucking Christ, nothing is ever this easy, _nothing_ , and who the fuck is he to say no? Justin is practically salivating when Chris finally rolls his eyes and laughs. "Yeah," Chris says. "Yeah, we're fucking doing this."  
  
"Sweet!" Justin crows, triumphantly. He subsides a little when Chris glares, but Cook just raises an eyebrow and extends his hands, palms up.  
  
"Well?" he says, with a smirk. "Lay it on me, Kirkpatrick. Whatever gets you off."  
  
*  
  
There's actually a surprising amount of porn on Chris' _Best Of_ list. Surprising in that it hasn't been reviewed in a while, and after all that time at TRANS-PORN, he'd kind of forgotten how much he enjoyed his job when penises had been more than just a (necessary) part of the bigger picture.  
  
Chris heads straight for the section labeled "Epic Stuff". There's only [one title in it](http://www.nsa.slashcity.org/nsa/fic/porn.html), but if Chris had his way, there would be an entire floor in some educational porno library dedicated to it. Hell, there'd be a goddamn shrine. Because it's not just regular porn. No, it's been elevated to a whole 'nother level. It's like a fucking porn marathon; four hours of sitting in front of his TV set and coming so hard he sees stars. Over, and over, and over again. Chris has to adjust himself a little before he can move on to the next film.  
  
It's [the one about the kid who's running a porn site and falls in love with one of his (very talented) actors](http://www.because-yes.com/kittenfic/just_push_play.html), which is at the top of JC's list - AJ's, too, if memory serves - and Chris remembers enjoying it so much he'd gone out and [bought the soundtrack](http://www.because-yes.com/kittenfic/index02.html), too. There's nothing like jerking off to good, stimulating background music. Also, there's a little irony in this one, if he thinks about it. Which he doesn't.  
  
Then there's [the one where the lead with the dirtiest motherfucking mouth on the planet gets to screw just about everyone](http://www.kekkai.org/synecdochic/please_master.html), and the BDSM scene at the end _still_ gets Chris off faster than anything else he's ever seen in this store. He tosses that one in the pile with a smirk.  
  
Justin's favorite is next in line. It's [the one with the fivesome](http://i-heart-sam.net/fictitiously/wheninamsterdam.html). Chris' favorite thing about it is probably that it was _actually_ shot in Amsterdam. Well, that and the fact that the actors seem to have studied the manual on 'ways to make Christopher Kirkpatrick cream his pants with just a moan' cover to cover.  
  
By extension, then, [the one with even more fivesome sex](http://yearningvoid.net/insanity/relief.html) makes the cut. There's, like, a whole slew of plot in it, too, which after four years gets Chris off almost as much as the actual porn does - which happens to be something he refuses to be embarrassed about, by the way - and seduction and wet dreams and accidental, sexy phone flirting, so. Yeah. Chris is kind of particular to this one.  
  
He moves on to the Mile High Club section next, and there's a little post-it note stuck on the first title that says, _watch me or your dick will shrivel_ in AJ's handwriting. Chris recognizes the cover. It's [the one with the amazing plane sex](http://www.maketheyuletidegay.org/appthena.do?o.action=view_story&o.key=45), and yeah, that doesn't narrow it down much, but it's the only one from this section that customers come in for twice - sometimes even three times - in the span of a week. Chris chucks that in with the other films.  
  
Then he goes for [the one with The Lap Dance](http://yearningvoid.net/insanity/lapdance.php), which is what any initiated employee of TRANS-PORN knows is the best teaser porn video they've got in the house. It's really more about the power play than the scantily-clad boys, when it comes down to it, which is something Chris can appreciate. That probably explains Lance's fascination, too.  
  
The next one is another one of Lance's classics, [involving yet another threesome, except it also technically involves voyeurism](http://wanderingwombat.livejournal.com/14955.html), which is more than fine by him, because in porn, additional people mean additional parts, and additional parts pretty much mean a whole slew of other good stuff.  
  
Chris adds a title from the cross-dressing section, too. It's on Joey's must-watch twenty more times before I die list, one of the true films that's stood the test of time. It's[ the gender-bender one](http://www.kekkai.org/synecdochic/tenbuckssays.html) with what he's sure is the hottest -- he's going to go with semi-masturbation -- scene he'll ever see in his life. (And he'll never admit it, but watching the way the best friends play off each other is one of his guilty porno pleasures.)  
  
Just to be kinky, Chris throws in [the one with the shoe kink](http://www.nsa.slashcity.org/nsa/fic/adlidas.html) too. It's Justin's absolute favorite porno to watch, and he used to put it in the display window all the time until AJ made him give their newer arrivals some airtime. Cook will shit a brick when he sees it, and whoever he intends it for will be... surprised, if nothing else. Hopefully even a little turned on.   
  
Then Chris gets to the humor section (which he basically created for himself, mostly, because he's seen _hilarious_ shit out there, and it needs to be promoted), and he picks out [the one with the shower sex](http://lucy-fic.livejournal.com/17429.html#cutid1). It's like the 'Before Sunrise' of porn, only better, because it's laugh out loud funny and the twist at the end always fucking kills him.  
  
He hesitates a little when he gets to the next section. He ends up picking another one of JC's favorite films, which is [the one that kind of reads like an art house film](http://t-fic.livejournal.com/9717.html), except for the fact that it's porn. It's actually kind of angsty, and it took JC hours and hours of effusive gushing to get Chris to watch it with him in the first place - he'd finally had to use the 'you need to broaden your horizons to get anywhere' argument, and Chris had folded like a house of cards in a hurricane - and once he'd seen it, it became pretty much the only fifteen-minute flick he ever bothered putting out on the display rack.   
  
For the hell of it, Chris goes through the Pornopera stack, too, rifling through it till he finds [the one about the high school boys that doesn't seem like it's ever going to end](http://community.livejournal.com/popslashhigh/). Justin had insisted on placing the order in his second week and, after some bribing, had gotten Chris to sit through an episode with him. Now, it's an indulgence that Chris gladly affords himself, because he might have a thing for schoolboys - something he hopes AJ never finds out - and because he might be a little bit in love with one of the characters on the show - which is another thing AJ never needs to know.  
  
Plus, Chris thinks with a smirk, he's the only guy who still orders this shit, and it's a good idea to have something he can use to string Cook along. At least until the movie's done.  
  
*  
  
So the only thing left to do after dropping the videos off with Cook is to call a meeting.   
  
Chris really doesn't want to do that.  
  
He rings Kevin up, instead, because he's already got a script in mind, and it's going to be awesome. He tells Kevin as much, then adds, "And I think you'd be fucking perfect as the Yellow-Eyed Demon."  
  
Predictably, Kevin hesitates. "Doesn't everyone want to be in a movie at some point in their lives?" Chris argues. "It's the least we can do."   
  
"Or you could return me my money," Kevin suggests. Chris makes a loud, injured noise in protest, and Kevin relents. Sighs. "Will my wife get to guest-star?"   
  
Chris cackles, and rubs his hands together. "Throw Mason in and you have a deal."  
  
*  
  
Still, the inevitable can only be put off so long.   
  
It's the first meeting he's called since everything at TRANS-PORN went south. Chris doesn't know what to expect, or who, and he sure as hell isn't expecting to see everyone there when he stumbles into Lance's apartment five minutes late the next morning. "Holy shit," he breathes, before he can help himself.  
  
That's when he realizes Joey isn't there. "Fuck," he says, and runs a hand through his hair. They haven't spoken at all in weeks. "Dammit--"  
  
The door swings open again, then. "Sorry, sorry. I got caught up at a work thing."   
  
It's Joey, and the knot in Chris' stomach comes undone almost immediately. He catches Joey's eye over Howie's head. It takes a second, but Joey's expression relaxes into a smile, and Chris feels the last of the tension in his shoulders disappear.  
  
He turns to the rest of the room. They're all there. Every fucking one of them. JC, Justin, Nick, Lance, Howie, AJ. Even Brian, who offers him a small, half-nod when their eyes meet. "Thank you," he says, very quietly. Even then, he's pretty sure they all hear it when his voice catches. "Thank you all for coming." His throat tightens. "I know--"  
  
"Shut up before you make us fucking bawl, asshole," AJ interrupts, but his tone is warm. "We get it, okay? Now move the fuck along. We've got a film to make."  
  
Chris can't help it. He laughs.  
  
*  
  
Things pretty much fall into place after that, and they get their roles sorted without any problems.   
  
JC, obviously, is anal enough to be the perfect AD without being too much of an overbearing ass. AJ volunteers to fill in for a couple of the minor roles, and Chris puts him in charge of casting and props. Howie's the script supervisor, since he's always had a keen eye for detail, and Chris is pretty sure they can trust him to remember with hand the actors are supposed to be carrying their EMF devices in from scene to scene.   
  
Lance gets to be the producer, since his primary interest is filling out paperwork and managing the money. Joey makes up pretty much the entire technical crew, doubling up as the key grip, and the sound and cameraman. Brian and Justin sign up as extras, and offer to help Joey out wherever they can.  
  
Unfortunately, it turns out that Nick isn't quite up for anything that involves memorizing _that_ many lines, so he volunteers to do make-up. AJ cracks up, at that, to which Nick responds solemnly, "You grow up with three younger sisters and their glittery eye-shadow, and then we'll talk."   
  
Chris backs him up, because he has four, and he sure as hell knows how that goes.   
  
*  
  
It's past lunch before they disperse, Chris handing out hugs to anyone who'll have them, like a physical reminder that everything's okay, and that all this really is happening. He gets to Justin last, and for a second, Chris doesn't really know what to say. "I'm sorry," he settles for, eventually.  
  
Justin gives him a wan smile, then tugs him into another quick hug."It's okay," he murmurs, into Chris' shoulder. "I'm just glad you're okay."  
  
Chris lets out a long, heavy breath. He thinks about the day in the parking lot; about Justin calling Cook; about that night in the bar, Justin's tongue in his mouth, Justin's hands curled in his hair. He feels a sudden, involuntary rush of affection, and for a second, Chris very nearly kisses him.  
  
Then Nick appears in the door. "J," he calls. "You gonna be long? 'Cause it's fucking pouring out here and I'm not waiting for you in the car."  
  
 _Oh,_ Chris thinks. He doesn't know if he should be disappointed or embarrassed, and the thought catches him by surprise. He'd never really expected to feel either. _So it's like that._   
  
Justin rolls his eyes. "Give me a second," he calls back, but there's nothing save warm affection in his voice. "A little rain isn't going to kill you."  
  
"So Nick, huh?" Chris asks, when Justin looks back at him, and shoves his hands in his pockets. "When did that happen?"  
  
"Busted," Justin laughs, as he ducks his head almost sheepishly. It makes him look like a completely different person. "We, uh - it's been going on for a while now. We didn't want to say anything at first, in case we didn't - whatever, and it got weird." He shrugs a little, smiling warmly. "But I think we're gonna be okay, you know?"  
  
"Yeah," Chris replies, even though he really doesn't.   
  
"I should probably--" Justin says, and gestures towards the door.  
  
"Yeah," Chris repeats. He lets Justin pull him into one last, brief hug, and then Justin follows Nick out the door, both of them grinning as they huddle together, Nick's jacket pulled up over both their heads as they head out to the car in the rain.  
  
Chris waits for all of five minutes before he pulls out his cell, and sweet-talks Lance out to a bar.  
  
*  
  
"Men," he says later, once they're settled at a table, and he's told the bartender to keep the shots coming. He can already feeling his vision start to swim when he shakes his head. "Men, you know? We're a fucking joke."  
  
"I'll drink to that," Lance sighs, as they clink glasses.  
  
"Love," Chris snorts, before he downs his shot. "Who fucking needs it anyway?"  
  
The next morning, he wakes up with a guy he doesn't recognize and the hangover from hell.   
  
He doesn't think about Justin again.  
  
*  
  
It's not that difficult to do, really. They have a lot to accomplish for the movie. Location scouting, scheduling, script revisions, a thousand different things that Chris has scribbled on the notepad he keeps by his bedside table. Casting's one of their top priorities, and Chris has only just settled down with AJ and JC to discuss their options when there's a hesitant knock on the door.  
  
"Hi, is this the casting department?"  
  
Chris looks up, and his jaw promptly drops.  
  
"Uh," he says. It totally doesn't come out sounding like "nnnnngh."  
  
"I'm Jared," the taller one - he has at least a couple of feet on Nick - offers, as they come properly into the room. Jesus, his hands are huge. "And, uh, this is Jensen."  
  
Jensen looks at AJ steadily. "We were just wondering if that offer's still on the table."   
  
Chris' eyes grow wide. Jensen is, quite possibly, the original prototype of the perfect gay man. "Uh," he says. "Offer?"  
  
Beside him, AJ smirks. "Told you I was good," he mutters.  
  
Chris pauses, then plasters a smile on his face as he holds up a finger. "Sorry, just - give us a moment," he says, to Jensen, before he marches AJ off to the side. JC's already engaged in an animated conversation with Jared about Vanilla Lattes. "What the hell does this have to do with you?" he asks.  
  
"I talked to them a while ago," AJ explains, with a cocky grin. "When the club wasn't doing so well. Put an offer on the table and told them to look us up if they ever wanted it."   
  
"What?" Chris demands. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"   
  
AJ shrugs. "I figured I owed you," he admits. "And I didn't actually think they'd take me up on it." He glances back over at them. Jensen rubs the back of his neck as he watches Jared and JC interact. "They must be pretty desperate."  
  
Chris' expression turns speculative. "Huh," he says.   
  
*  
  
So the Js get to audition (of course) and they blow Chris away (naturally), but now that Chris knows that they're probably here out of desperation, he can't help yanking their chains a little bit.   
  
So he's an asshole. What else is new?   
  
He knows they have it in the bag, but before JC can welcome them and introduce them to their crew, he steeples his fingers, eyebrows knit thoughtfully.   
  
JC subsides almost immediately, but the frown he aims in Chris' direction says he thinks that Chris is _crazy_ , and Chris would be thinking the same thing, if he'd been seriously considering blowing them off. But this is too good a chance to pass up. "We're going to need a screen test," he says, eventually. "And I know the perfect set-up."  
  
*  
  
They get Jensen and Jared mic-ed up, and then send them back to the strip club. Joey's the only one who goes with them; minimal collateral damage and all that. Joey's hands are as steady as always, and Chris can see everything in the viewfinder, knows exactly when Jensen slips his key into the back door lock. "Dude," Jared whispers. "We're breaking in. Are we actually fucking breaking in?"  
  
Jensen only pauses for a second. "Well," he says. "Technically, we still work here, right?"  
  
Jared lets out a quiet, half laugh, and then they're on the inside.   
  
"Have I mentioned you're fucking hot when you're playing the Double-Crossing Agent?" Jared murmurs, as he backs Jensen up, step by slow step, till Jensen's pressed against the wall.  
  
"Not nearly enough," Jensen says, as he tips his head up. Then they're kissing, and it's slow and wet and lewd. Jared grins against Jensen's mouth, one hand fisted in Jensen's shirt as he starts tugging him forward again, towards the row of poles situated along the bar top table. Jensen follows him willingly, the shyness Chris remembers seeing in the audition room completely absent here.   
  
"Gonna put on a show for me?" Jared asks, voice a low hum by Jensen's ear.  
  
Jensen's eyes are dark when he smiles, a slow, teasing thing, and he hoists himself up and around a pole with all the ease and grace of a dancer. He's fucking amazing, long lines and flashes of skin as he curls his body around the cool metal post. AJ makes a choked noise when Jensen's shirt comes off, and JC breathes out a quiet, " _oh._ " Chris struggles not to swallow his tongue. "I didn't script that," he says, weakly.  
  
"No shit," AJ mutters, watching as Jared rises from his seat, yanks Jensen down and pushes him flat against the table. "No fucking way you could write something that good."  
  
*  
  
"Okay," Jared says later. After. "So. Did we pass the test?"   
  
Like there's ever been any doubt.  
  
*  
  
Chris catches the look Justin shoots Nick, though, as they're cleaning up the crime scene. It's an open secret that Justin's aiming for Hollywood, that he'd been hoping to use this to get a foot in the door, and this probably feels like a slap to the face. Chris feels badly enough about it that he bumps Justin up into third billing without any audition, putting him in the role of Daddy Winchester. It only works because Nick _is_ actually genius with a pencil liner, but Justin takes the older role pretty gracefully too, and Chris ends up feeling like scum for about a day.   
  
It's like being cast as the converted bad boy who didn't even realize he needed to reform when he'd been aiming for the lead role.  
  
Still. At least they have that settled.  
  
*  
  
The thing is, casting aside, there's still a ridiculous amount of ground to cover in pre-production, and Chris is determined to have a hand in it all. The lighting, the music, the storyboarding. Everything. This needs to be _perfect_.   
  
"Perfect," he hisses, at one of the interns that he doesn't even recognize. AJ's been delegating again. "Everything needs to be perfect." He jabs a finger at the mix CD that he's just been handed. "Does this sound like perfection to you?"   
  
"Um--"  
  
"Does this sound like something you would hear on the soundtrack of your life as you screwed your werewolf girlfriend for the last time before you had to _kill her_?"  
  
"I--"  
  
"Bring me actual fucking music when you get back, or find someone else to take over your job."  
  
The intern - Chris thinks her name is Alicia - swallows, hard. "Yes, sir," she squeaks, before darting away.  
  
"Jesus," Chris grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "New Kids on the fucking Block, un-fucking-believable."  
  
JC glances up from the storyboards at that, touching the inside of Chris' wrist with a brief smile before turning back to his work. "But all I ever wanted was inside of you," he hums, under his breath.  
  
Chris lifts his head at that, staring at JC with something like awe.   
  
"Oh," JC says sheepishly, when he catches Chris staring. "Sorry."  
  
"No," Chris shakes his head. "No, what is that? Is that an actual song?"  
  
"What?" JC asks, confused. "Oh. Yeah. Have you heard of Kane? They have pretty good stuff."  
  
"We need that song," Chris says. It's almost gleeful. "I don't care how we fucking do it, we need that song."  
  
"Uh," JC says. "Chris, with our budget--"  
  
"I can hook you up," Jensen says, unexpectedly, as he turns up behind Chris.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yeah," Jensen says, ducking his head with an almost shy shrug. "I, uh. Steve's an old friend, so. I mean, if you're asking for the rights to that song for the movie, I could - you know, I could talk to him. Work something out."  
  
Chris stares at Jensen for a moment, then all but flies at him. Jensen goes down with an _oof_. "I fucking love you," Chris gushes, fingers curled around Jensen's shoulders and grinning from ear-to-ear. "You can be in all my movies, man."  
  
"Thanks," Jensen manages, clearly torn between laughing and surprise. "I think."  
  
*  
  
Unfortunately, things are rarely that simple, and it feels like new problems are constantly popping up just as he manages to solve an older one. The problem is, his body doesn't acclimatize very well to the long hours and the lack of real food, so after a couple of weeks, it gives out.   
  
They're testing out the lighting when something comes loose, and Chris doesn't move fast enough. Suddenly he's on the floor, JC's hands are pressed against his side and there's so much blood Chris is dizzy with it. He thinks vaguely about keeping the equipment clean, and then the world stops.  
  
When he wakes up, JC is still there; he looks terrible, like he hasn't eaten in days (which isn't surprising, by any stretch of imagination) and like it's been a week since he last slept (which is). The fatigue is chased away by a soft, relieved smile, though, and JC's fingers are warm around his own.  
  
"What time is it?" Chris asks. His voice sounds gritty and rough, and it makes him wince.  
  
"Four twenty," JC says. He doesn't even have to check the clock, and it's only when Chris tries to sit up that he moves his hands away. "In the morning, Chris. Just - stay down, okay?"  
  
"In the morning?" Chris echoes. He pushes himself up on his elbows anyway, head pounding with the effort, and JC sighs and lets him. " _C_."   
  
"Breathe, cat. I sent everyone home," JC says, as he pours him a glass of water. "They weren't happy about it. The next time you decide you need a day off, let me know in advance so I can get all the paperwork out of the way, okay?"   
  
"Great," Chris grumbles, collapsing back onto the bed after accepting the liquid. "You're regular bleeding hearts, the lot of you. It's not like I was fucking injured or anything."  
  
Chris can see the corners of JC's mouth quirk, despite his valiant attempts to hide it. They both know Chris' heatless bitching when they hear it. JC squeezes his hand, again, before smoothing down the sheets. Then he looks at Chris, like he's going to say something, but seems to think better of it."I'm gonna go get you an espresso shot, and then we can start fixing the schedule," is what comes out instead.  
  
"Perfect," Chris nods, stifling a yawn as JC gets to his feet. He's glad JC doesn't try to talk him into resting. As if he _can_ , after fucking with the schedule so much. Chris bites back another yawn, eyes falling shut once the door is closed, just for a second, hoping to get rid of the dull throb at the back of his head. It's the morphine or something; it's making his eyelids feel heavy. He'll be up in a minute.  
  
He doesn't remember drifting off, but weak sunlight's filtering in through the blinds when he finally wakes. There's a cold cup of coffee on his bedside table, and three empty ones next to it. A fresh copy of the filming schedule sits on top of the bed sheet, with JC's neat print all over it, fixing all the things Chris' carelessness has incurred. Chris grins despite himself.   
  
Nothing new there.  
  
*  
  
Chris is back at work within the week. He expects teasing and joking and horsing around, expects to have to rule with an iron fist - he isn't sure that he should be making those kind of jokes just yet, considering that the doctor told him he'd only very nearly missed having to amputate - more so than when he was in control.  
  
But everything's set up for his return, and in the time he's been recuperating, JC's gone ahead and confirmed all their other venues, with Lance providing legit paperwork, and Justin and Howie trying to raise more money (and awareness) for their film on the street. Brian's been overseeing all the rehearsals, making sure Jensen, Jared and Nick get along, and that Justin's learning all his lines while he's walking around town handing out pamphlets. Joey and AJ have been working on testing the lighting in just about all the angles he could possibly need, just to familiarize themselves with it.   
  
It's clean and efficient and fucking _awesome_ , and Chris announces, "if this is how y'all work without me around, I'm going to take off more often."  
  
Justin grabs him, carefully avoiding his broken arm, and gives him a noogie. "Don't you dare," he warns, in between his own manic giggling and Chris' muffled protests. "Don't you dare, you little shit."  
  
Chris glares, though the effect is lost with Justin still clinging to him like a baby monkey. "Hasn't anyone told you that that's no way to talk to the man writing your paycheck?" he asks.  
  
For a moment, all is quiet on set.  
  
"Hate to break it to you, man," Jensen says finally. "But catered food and a twenty-year-old trailer that smells like ass isn't exactly Hollywood treatment."  
  
Justin guffaws so hard that he topples right off Chris' back.  
  
"Hey," JC says then, and grins as Chris turns around. "You know how you've always wanted to have a fan club?"  
  
Chris raises an eyebrow. "This sounds like something I could live with."   
  
JC pulls the door to his makeshift trailer open, and Chris literally feels his jaw drop. It's fucking packed, bouquets, condoms and get well cards spilling onto the ground in front of him. For a second, he just stares. Then JC elbows him in the side. "I think you've got that fanclub," he grins, and when Chris turns to look at him, he has a pencil tucked behind one ear and his eyes are bright. "Go on. Say it. You know you want to."  
  
Chris does want to, has been fucking dreaming about this since he was four and first discovered the joys of television. He turns to his crew, eyes wide and an almost-manic grin on his face as he bellows, "WHO'S THE MOTHERFUCKING ROCKSTAR?"  
  
*  
  
"You sure you're up for this?" AJ asks, later, when everyone else is gone. They're sitting under the stars, sharing a cigarette. It feels just like it used to, back when TRANS-PORN was nothing but a pit-stop on the way to their future. "We can hold things off a couple days more, if you need it."  
  
Chris blows out a ring of smoke, then nods. "I'm okay."   
  
"Chris?"  
  
Chris drops his head, takes in another shaky breath, feeling the bravado he's been putting up all week fade away. This is AJ. This is safe. "Fuck, man, just - I could've _died_ , you know? I'm - what if something fucking happens, and I don't get to--"  
  
AJ shifts closer, putting a hand on Chris' back. "Hey," he murmurs. "Easy."  
  
"No, listen," Chris says urgently as he turns to AJ, the cigarette falling from his fingers. "This is it. I was lying in the damn hospital cot thinking about my life, and this is it, okay? This is the part of the movie where you see me in this completely different light, and bad boyband shit is playing in the background, and there's a fucking montage of all the shit we've been through together and how fucking right we are for each other, and how goddamn happy you make me." He pauses to draw a breath. "Now kiss me before I make myself sick."   
  
AJ raises an eyebrow, but he responds without protest, resting his hands on Chris' hips as he slants their mouths together. "Look man," he murmurs, in between. "I know it's rough with Justin and Nick being all fucking touchy on set all the time, so I get why you need to do this, and I'm cool with being the rebound guy, but it's just the once, okay?"   
  
"What?" Chris demands. Goddammit, AJ really knows what he's doing.   
  
"What?" AJ repeats. "Did you think I'd--" He stops then, abruptly, pulling back to stare at Chris. The moment stretches, and Chris is about to lean in for another kiss anyway when AJ lets out a huff of incredulous laughter and leans away entirely. "Come _on_! Even I can't be that cruel. JC's right _there_."  
  
Chris stops short, retort dying on his lips.   
  
"Shut your mouth," AJ says, after a second, but he's smirking now, smug goddamn bastard written all over his face like he's got the whole universe figured out. "You're practically flailing."   
  
Chris attempts a glare, but if the look AJ shoots him is any indication, it's pretty unimpressive. Chris can't even bring himself to care. "I guess _this_ is when you cue the cheesy music," he says eventually, weakly.  
  
AJ raises an eyebrow. "I guess so," he snorts. "But Chris? You make one more chick flick reference and I swear to god I'm fucking leaving you here."  
  
Chris groans and presses his face into his hands. After a second, he feels AJ settle beside him, close enough that their knees are touching. Chris shakes his head, and AJ lays a warm hand between his shoulder blades. Chris very nearly sobs.   
  
Then AJ opens his mouth.  
  
"I sympathize and all that," he says. "You know I do. But Timberlake? Seriously? He was practically your fucking groupie, man."  
  
"Oh my god," Chris chokes out, face screwed up in a grimace. "Shut the fuck _up_."  
  
*  
  
Chris gets into work the next day feeling like he's been hit by a bus. He sinks into his chair with a groan, wishing like hell it wasn't the first day of filming.  
  
"Hey boss," Jared says, with one of his bright, sunny smiles, as he folds into a chair beside Chris. "Shouldn't we be getting set up for a scene?"  
  
"Yeah," Chris says absently. He hates set-up; it always gives him too much time to fucking think. When he looks up, Jared's still sitting there, friendly and open and _easy_. "Hey, so," Chris hears himself saying. "Hypothetically speaking, right?"  
  
Jared's grin spreads even wider. "Is this you asking me to play shrink?"  
  
"Shut up and let me finish my question," Chris says. "So hypothetically speaking, if it took you, say, twenty-eight fucking years to figure out that your best friend wanted more--"  
  
Jared laughs, then.   
  
"Oh, fuck you," Chris sighs.   
  
"No," Jared says, quickly, hiding his smile behind his hand. "No, I'm sorry. I wasn't - trust me, I know how you feel." He runs a hand through his hair, and shifts a little closer. "If you're asking me if I think you should talk to him about it, then yeah, I do."  
  
Chris raises an eyebrow.  
  
"Look," Jared says, with another grin. "Twenty-eight years is fucking forever, man. If he's waited that long, he's gotta be pretty serious, right? So, you know, he's gotta be hoping to hear something. I mean, like, don't just bowl him over with it, because that might not go over so well. He could totally freak out and make things hard on you just because he has no fucking clue how to react." Jared pulls a face. "And then siblings and co-workers might have to become involved, and that's just not how you want it to go down, you know?"  
  
He shakes his head. "Just be, y'know, gentle. He's probably convinced that you're a moron and you're never going to figure it out, so."  
  
Despite himself, Chris smirks. "You speaking from experience there, Sasquatch?"  
  
Jared just grins and pushes to his feet. "Hypothetically speaking, right?" he says, patting Chris' shoulder as he brushes past him. "Good luck."  
  
*  
  
As it turns out, the next few weeks are nothing but filming, and more filming. The routine is simple: Chris wakes up at seven, spends the day running scenes with Jensen and Jared, filming those scenes, and then going over the next day's schedule with JC and Lance. He goes to bed close to three in the morning, every morning, gets up four hours later, and restarts his day. There's no time to think about anything but the movie, and his cast, and how they're going to keep to the budget.   
  
It doesn't feel like it's ever going to end, and he loves it.  
  
*  
  
Six weeks later, they call it a wrap.  
  
*  
  
This is how it ends.  
  
Joey and JC spend all their time camped out in the small editing suites that they've set up for themselves, arguing over music and how the CGI should work, but they're both professionals used to working on a tight budget and an even tighter schedule, so they're done with editing within a month.  
  
Chris sets up a small, private screening that evening, mostly for Cook's benefit than anything else. A couple of distributors show up - Cook's doing - and Chris takes the opportunity to present his crew, get the word out there. It's only then that he realizes JC's disappeared.   
  
*  
  
Chris finds him a little later in the basement, fiddling with a couple of sequences at one of the editing terminals.  
  
"That looks familiar," Chris says, leaning against the door frame with a half grin.  
  
JC startles at that, and looks up. "Oh," he says. His smile is wan. "Hey." His too-long sleeves swallow his fingers where they're resting on the editing console.   
  
"You know, there are people upstairs you should probably meet," Chris adds.  
  
JC nods. "Yeah, I was just--" he pauses, then, shrugging as he gestures vaguely around the room.  
  
Chris hesitates for a second. He thinks about Justin, and AJ, and Jared, and then carefully settles into the chair beside JC. They watch the dailies running across the screen for a while. It's like rereading a script he already has memorized. "So that was pretty insane, man," he says, eventually.  
  
"Yeah," JC nods, a little wistfully. He messes with the color configuration a little, fingers deft and familiar on the knobs, and doesn't quite look up.  
  
"You know," Chris says, conversationally, watching as Jensen turns from a sickly shade of green to a dark maroon. "I think we should do a biographical documentary for our next feature length film. Cook still owes me a favor."  
  
When he lifts his head, JC's staring at him, eyes wide and awed and bluer than Chris has ever seen them. Chris smiles.  
  
If this were a movie--  
  
"Roll credits," he murmurs, and JC ducks his head on a grin.


End file.
